


Butterfly Bound

by Killaurey



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Cannibalism, Death, F/M, Gore, Kidnapping, Multi, Torture (physical & emotional), disturbing imagery, psychological mindfuckery
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2012-06-06
Updated: 2013-09-19
Packaged: 2017-11-07 03:05:45
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 8
Words: 31,544
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/426248
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Killaurey/pseuds/Killaurey
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>6th year AU. Theodore/Hermione. When Harry lies dying from an unbreakable curse, Hermione is desperate to find a cure. After a summer of hell, Theodore wants nothing to do with the war. A Nott family heirloom provides the answer to both their prayers, but only if they can work together to survive the heirloom's demands. And even if they succeed, there's still a war to win...</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Now You Don't

**Author's Note:**

> Written for the 2012 Finish-a-Thon and [](http://edellin.dreamwidth.org/profile)[**edellin**](http://edellin.dreamwidth.org/)'s fic [request](http://killaurey.dreamwidth.org/134234.html?thread=335450#cmt335450). Also note that anything recognizable belongs to JKR and I'm just playing in her sandbox.

  


* * *

Lord Voldemort had decided after due reflection that he had been overly hasty in his attempts to retrieve the prophecy. Despite nearly a year of time spent in planting visions, the entire plan had been destroyed in an evening and, worse, he'd given himself away to the general Wizarding public. He'd enjoyed the year the Ministry had so generously granted him with their disbelief over his return. The time had given him the months necessary to build his power base and gather the errant strands of rebellion that had cropped up in his absence within his supporters and crush them ruthlessly.

But all was not lost, Lord Voldemort thought, staring out at the wind- and wet-lashed rocks as a storm raged outside. The window he looked out of was twice as tall and three times as wide as he was and paned in panels that in better weather looked like a work of art. The only picture shown tonight was the one that nature provided.

Lord Voldemort was alone. He had ordered the loyal from his presence and they had gone, though not all had gone as willingly as others. The sole exception to his orders was Rosier, who stood outside his chambers as less a guard and more a servant waiting orders, though Lord Voldemort considered himself generous and allowed Rosier to believe what he would.

_But they would try to fly before they can walk, if they saw this. They would want to attack and that would be another fiasco like the Ministry attempt._

His long, spidery fingers brushed a pane of glass and the true view of the weather outside flickered, wavered, and then resolved itself into a view of a very familiar house. Lord Voldemort watched the occupants go about their evening routine. He had begun watching them around last Christmas, having discovered the location of the home through Harry's mind, and upon investigation had found that the wards did not prevent his surveillance--could not prevent that, as he was considered family by blood. The bulk of his attention focused on the green-eyed, black-haired boy who stuck out amongst the family.

Harry.

There were many wards around Number Four Privet Drive. Lord Voldemort could, on his own, enter if he did not cause harm or have the intent to mean harm while doing so. None of his Death Eaters could do even that much, excepting, perhaps Severus, but using Severus at this junction would be a waste of a valuable resource. And he had a better plan. Nothing could enter the wards that meant Harry, and to a lesser extent, his so-called family, harm.

 _But this is not causing harm,_ Lord Voldemort thought. _This is giving him what he wants._

That what the boy wanted happened to coincide with Lord Voldemort's plans was a pleasing thing. That what they wanted was not even remotely what Albus Dumbledore would want made it even better.

 _Lower your barriers, Harry._ Lord Voldemort, still staring at the image of Number Four Privet Drive, reached out with his mind. _Let me in._

The wards could not prevent that. Not when he asked and Harry, all unknowing, subconsciously gave him an invitation in simply because the boy was tired of being alone.

This was no attack as far as the wards were concerned. And he, Lord Voldemort was blood-related in any case. The rules of the wards keeping Harry safe only partially applied. Albus Dumbledore had to know that and, Lord Voldemort believed, relied on security through obscurity to provide the rest of the necessary protection.

It pleased Lord Voldemort to know his enemy's protections were little more than a farce. It was tempting, more than tempting, to simply go and tear down the wards and then allow his Death Eaters their blood sport. He'd considered such a thing more than once. The odds were in his favour that they could take out the entire family as well as the Boy-Who-Lived before Dumbledore could arrive... and to ensure that, all they would have to do was take out a Squib woman and a single guard...

But this was more elegant. This was something _Harry_ wanted.

 _This once,_ Lord Voldemort thought, _I am willing to oblige you. I can be generous, Harry, even to my enemies. Can you say the same of your mentor?_

The boy in the image showed no sign of hearing him despite the fact that their minds were connected. That was all right. _Sleep, Harry,_ Lord Voldemort urged and the boy yawned in response. _Sleep and dream._

When the boy went to lie on his bed, it was then that Lord Voldemort began to truly work.

It was the second day of Harry's summer vacation.

* * *

Over the next few days, Number Four Privet Drive and its occupants went about their daily business as if everything was normal. All except for Harry.

He still moved, he still breathed, and he still did the work his Aunt and Uncle assigned him. But when he spoke it was in monosyllables and when night fell and he was meant to sleep, he didn't. Grief weighed on him and he had no support system in the perfectly normal house on a street full of perfectly normal people who believed he was something he wasn't—though they were right in thinking he was not like them.

As night by restless night passed, Harry gave ground to his grief. The closest thing he'd ever known to a father had died before his eyes due to a mistake he'd made. There was no excuse, though he fumbled for one that would not leave him guilty in some way.

Through his grief, though Harry didn't know it, Lord Voldemort found his way in.

Lord Voldemort took his time. He planted a suggestion here, a thought there, and let the boy stew himself further and further into the deep gloom of grey depression as Harry stared up at the ceiling of his dingy bedroom for hours at a time and thought of nothing at all. In another room, in another country, Lord Voldemort proceeded with his plan using unhurried mental suggestions and easy calm that overlay a chill grimness.

He'd been hasty last year; he'd listened too much to his Death Eaters and had forgotten, briefly, that they were only mortal and bound by time.

He had time to spare, unlike them, and so he could afford to move at his own pace. The death of the so-called Boy-Who-Lived was still a matter that he planned to attend to but after a few nights of self-imposed solitude and rumination he'd realized that with the boy's grief, which haunted the edges of Lord Voldemort's mind the way he haunted Harry's, there was a way to subdue the boy without killing him.

He'd still die, in the end, of course. But there was nothing wrong with taking a little more time. And if the prophecy spoke of this, well, his enemies' reactions would tell him much.

Every night, Lord Voldemort wove his spell (a curse, really) and continued to make the changes that would leave Harry susceptible, more receptive, to it. He did not think it would fail. The curse would exploit Harry's grief and guilt over losing his godfather and, even better, there were only two ways to end the spell.

Only the focal point or the victim could break it.

As the focal point was Sirius Black, Lord Voldemort was as certain as he could be that the spell could not be broken by the man. He was dead.

And the changes he was making to Harry's mind, subtle ones, would mean the boy would be less inclined to wish for freedom if he even noticed that something was amiss. _Dream the dream, Harry. It can be real._

There was a chance, Lord Voldemort conceded, that the boy would manage to find the cure within himself. But it was a slim, slender chance and he was willing to take the risk. Even if the boy managed to eventually free himself, it would buy Lord Voldemort time to wage his war unopposed--Dumbledore would be more concerned with curing his Golden Boy than saving the lives of countless others, if Lord Voldemort's guess at the contents of the prophecy were correct. Harry was likely the only one who could beat him.

So Lord Voldemort would take him out of the equation.

The curse would eventually kill the boy if uncured, but it would be a long process—a year or two, three at the most. More important was that the boy would be out of commission for all that time and his enemies would be focused saving their saviour.

Once his modifications to Harry's mind were complete, Lord Voldemort was well satisfied that the hardest part would be over. The spell--an ancient one, found in a forgotten library--needed only blood and intention and determination to cast and the Lord Voldemort had all three of those. Blood forcibly taken and melded with his more than a year ago; for the curse's purposes, they were related. Indeed, Lord Voldemort thought that because of the ritual used to resort him to his body, that magically he might even be considered the Boy-Who-Lived's _son_. Intention, well, there was no one who wanted the boy out of the way more than he did.

And no one, not even his enemies, had ever said that Lord Voldemort was not determined.

One night, after a long and repetitive day, Lord Voldemort watched through his scrying window as Harry lay down on his lumpy mattress, in dirty clothes, aching and tired and heartsick. His green eyes fluttered closed.

Lord Voldemort wove the final strands of his curse.

For a moment, in the smallest bedroom in Number Four Privet Drive, there was no movement, not even a breath drawn and then there was a luminescent glow.

Harry's eyes opened; they were sky blue.

Then they closed again. Harry breathed deeply and slumped, bonelessly, into the curse.

 _Sleep, Harry,_ Lord Voldemort's voice lingered in the room, like a taste of winter in the middle of summer. _Enjoy your never ending wonderland._

It was not a quick death, Lord Voldemort thought, but it would do. Indeed, it was likely to be more effective than a quick death would be. For in death, Harry would be a martyr.

In life, in endless sleep, he would be a problem. For the other side. And then, when they gave up hope, years later, Harry would simply pass away without ever having woken up.

Lord Voldemort disengaged his mind from Harry's and stood. He swept out of the darkened room with the swish of robes, his stride long but unhurried. He had work to do and for the first time since he'd risen, he had absolutely nothing to be concerned about when it came to the Boy-Who-Lived.

 _Let the Order fuss about him,_ the man who had once been Tom Riddle thought. _I have better things to be doing._

There was a war to be fought and won while the boy who was, must be, prophesied to be able to destroy him was otherwise occupied. Laughter bubbled in Lord Voldemort's throat and while he did not let it free, he enjoyed the feeling of it.

"Rosier," he said in his high, cold voice as he left his private chambers. "Summon Greyback." He thought a moment. "And Yaxley. Quickly. They shall set the stage for the children."

Rosier stared at him. "My Lord—the children?"

Lord Voldemort smiled coldly and permitted the impertinence. "I wish to make my authority clear."

"Lord." The crack of Apparation was sharp and sudden; exactly as he wanted it from his Death Eaters. Rosier was gone without another word.

Lord Voldemort continued walking.

The stars were bright that night. Perhaps he'd go and enjoy them for a few moments.

After all, he had the time.

* * *

It was three days before anyone but the Dursleys, who cared not at all beyond closing the door to the smallest bedroom in hopes they would not catch whatever freakish ailment Harry had clearly come down with, realized that something was wrong.

It was Albus Dumbledore who found Harry.

And Lord Voldemort, watching through his scrying window, miles upon miles away, was pleased to see the despair on the old wizard's face.

In those three days, the pureblooded children of Wizarding Britain, between the ages of eleven and twenty, disappeared.

On Lord Voldemort's orders, those closest to Potter—the Longbottoms, the Lovegoods, the Weasleys—were left untouched.

Of other families, only a precious few could say the same.

* * *


	2. Questions

Harry's chest rose and fell with each breath. 

Hermione found the constant motion comforting. It was easiest way to tell he was still alive. She sat in the Hogwarts infirmary, her gaze fixed on Harry, watching each rise and fall with anxious eyes, and kept track of the others in the room only because, irrationally, if she didn't then something might go wrong with Harry.

Something was already wrong with Harry. The dreadful part was that no one knew exactly what yet.

She'd been woken three hours ago by Professor McGonagall ringing her doorbell at one in the morning. The sound had roused not only her, but also her parents, and Hermione had no doubt that she was going to have to do some explaining later to them for she'd been insistent that she and Professor McGonagall leave immediately once she'd heard it was about Harry.

When she'd reached Hogwarts, still dishevelled and in her night things with a robe thrown over them, she'd been unsurprised to find Ron already present. He'd probably just come by Floo, which made his travel time much shorter. She couldn't wait until she had her own place, with her own fireplace--her parents were firm in their refusal to get one--and then she'd have far more freedom to travel.

But that was a small matter, barely worth thinking about when Harry lay on a hospital bed, eyes closed, breathing slow, like he was only sleeping. There was faint colour in his cheeks. Someone had folded his hands over his chest, which Hermione felt meant that they had no idea how Harry slept. But it was a nice gesture, to make him seem a little more natural. She suspected that Ginny had done it; the girl was standing next to his bed, ignoring the chairs and looking pale and peaky. 

Hermione doubted that she looked much better. She'd seen the problems almost immediately. No one could wake Harry up. Not even all of Madame Pomfrey's spells or Professor Snape's potions. Professor Dumbledore was looking increasingly grim with each failure and she wasn't sure where Professor McGonagall had wandered off to. Perhaps back to bed? Hermione wondered then told herself briskly not to be ridiculous. There was no way that Professor McGonagall would just go back to bed when a student was in distress.

 _Wake up, Harry,_ she thought at him fiercely. He gave no indication of hearing.

"Do you have any ideas?" Ron asked her. "You're the walking encyclopedia."

"I like to read," she said sniffily, then relented--he had a good question and it was one that she wished she could answer in the positive. "Nothing that they're not already trying. I've never made a study of spells that induce sleep that can't be woken up from. Nothing I know matches the symptoms he's showing."

Ron sighed miserably. "We're always in here because of one of us, aren't we?" he asked, a bit of dark humour lingering on the edges of his words. "Usually him."

"It's not his fault," she said quietly. 

"Never said it was." Ron looked at Harry contemplatively, then frowned. "Do you think," he murmured, "that they've tried that Legilimency thing that Snape and Dumbledore do?"

Hermione tugged her eyes away from Harry to stare at Ron. "Harry would hate that," she pointed out, her voice hushed. "He might never forgive us if we suggest they deliberately invade his privacy."

"Not even if it's to save his life?" Ron countered. "They're not going to be in there to snoop around for anything but causes of _this_. I think that's a fair compromise, Hermione."

She looked back at Harry, unsettled at the very idea and unwilling to concede that he might have a point. It still left her feeling a bit uncomfortable. She could only imagine how she'd feel if someone invaded her mind while she slept and she'd feel horrible, did feel horrible at even considering it. "They haven't tried all of the conventional cures yet," she said reasonably. "Maybe we'll get lucky. It's only been a few hours that they've been trying."

Ron snorted. Ginny raised her head to look at both of them with a stare that said clearly that they were being irritating and should really shut up now. Hermione raised her eyebrows at her then shrugged and turned to Ron. Out of respect for Harry, and for the professors who were still attempting to wake him, and were murmuring their own conversation in quiet voices, she kept her voice small. "I mean," she said, "I don't believe that we will," and that hurt to admit, "but why would You-Know-Who put Harry to sleep? What if it wasn't You-Know-Who? It could be anyone!"

"Don't say that," Ron said, looking uncomfortable. "Who else would it be? More importantly, wasn't Harry supposed to be safe from harm where he was?"

"Sleeping," Ginny said, her voice flat but carrying, "isn't exactly _harm_."

They all looked at Harry and then looked away. Hermione didn't know how they felt, but she was incredibly off-kilter. Harry wasn't harmed, she supposed, by the sleep alone.

But if he couldn't wake up...

"Professor Dumbledore," Hermione said, making up her mind and, as was her wont, speaking up immediately about it, "would seeing what Harry is dreaming or thinking about right now help you in determining what's wrong with him?"

At the sound of her voice, the Professors and Madam Pomfrey stopped talking, and looked at her. Snape looked thoughtful and shuttered, Dumbledore grim, and there was nothing in Madam Pomfrey's face but anxiety and concern. 

"That is an idea we've considered," he said courteously, "but felt that it was best to eliminate other routes first. Depending on the nature of the sleep Mr. Potter is under, attempting to see into his mind could cause more harm than good. Indeed, some curses have specific counters to mental probing."

She flushed a little. "It was just an idea," Hermione said, embarrassed. "I didn't mean that you hadn't thought of it or--"

But the professors turned back to their own discussion and didn't seem to notice as she trailed off uncertainly. 

"Look at Snape," Ginny said. "He looks like he's winning whatever argument they were having."

She looked, cheeks still coloured, and sure enough, there was a certain set to Snape's shoulders and the play of emotion across his closely-guarded face that said he was on sure ground and certain he was getting somewhere. She wondered what it was that he was arguing about. 

"I reckon he wants to do the same thing you asked about," Ron said moodily. "Which makes me feel dirty. I'm agreeing with _Snape_."

He sounded so appalled that Hermione smiled a little. "It had to happen eventually," she teased. "And if it's about Harry and making him better, then there's worse things to agree about, I'm sure."

Ron just shook his head, laced his fingers behind it, and slumped back in his chair. "Still though," he said, "are we supposed to do something? Even when he's been stuck in the hospital before we've been allowed to visit and then everyone oh so politely shoos us out. No one is doing that."

"Don't give them ideas!" hissed Ginny. "I'm lucky I got to come at all. You heard Mum, she was all 'oh, Ginny darling, no, you're too young!' and me only a year younger than you!"

"Yeah, well, you're the girl," Ron pointed out. "Mum fusses more after you. Likes you better, doesn't she?"

"Hmph. I could do with less liking if it means I get to do what I want more," Ginny said, carefully reaching out to smooth a bit of hair out of Harry's face and looking as if she was surprised by her own daring. 

"Maybe she's starting to realize that," Hermione offered, as always, surprised at the differences between her parents and the Weasleys. Her mum and dad loved her but they rarely fussed the way both the Weasley parents were prone to do. And the apron strings had been cut much earlier... though perhaps that had more to do with the fact that she'd found herself in a whole new world that they couldn't follow her into at the age of not-quite-twelve. "That's why you got to come."

"Maybe," Ginny said, as moodily as Ron. "I thought, maybe, that it was because it could be one of the classic spells. But that doesn't make sense because wouldn't they have asked Cho here instead?"

"Harry and Cho aren't together." Ron opened his eyes, looking a bit amused. "Imagine that! Them Flooing to ask her to pretty please come and kiss Harry awake!" He gave his sister a severe look. "And you, what are you thinking about that for--you're dating Dean!"

"I know it was stupid!" Ginny snapped, her temper flaring. "Shut your mouth before I do it for you."

"The classic spells?" Hermione asked quickly. Given the rest of their conversation, she could guess, but she was more concerned with derailing the argument before it really got going for Ron was as short tempered as Ginny was when stressed. 

"It's… true love's kiss to wake the sleeper?," Ginny said, flushing to the roots of her hair. "That's a Wizarding thing that even Muggles have stories about, right? Only it's not just fantasy for us--that's a real spell and a real solution."

Hermione felt herself flushing a little too as she realized, suddenly, another reason why she might have been fetched. "You don't think they think that either of _us_ could be..."

Ron looked perturbed. "Then what am I here for? Harry's my best mate but I'm never snogging him."

They all looked at each other and then burst out laughing.

"Well, really!" Madam Pomfrey bustled over, looking indignant. "You shouldn't be making so much noise around a patient. Mr. Potter is sleeping."

"And you can't wake him up," Ginny snapped, all laughter gone in the blink of an eye. "So why shouldn't we make noise? Maybe it'll help more than all the spells you're tossing around."

"Miss Weasley," Professor Snape's voice was low and ominous, "I suggest you stop talking unless you wish Gryffindor to start the coming year with negative points."

Ginny glared, her brown eyes bright. Ron shifted, lowering his hands. "She's got a point, though, Professors, Madam Pomfrey. If Harry can't be woken up, then our making noise isn't going to make much of a difference either way, right?"

Hermione swallowed the urge to gasp at Ron and Ginny's daring. "Please," she said, "we just want to help. If Harry hears us, maybe he'll come back, if we're laughing."

The three adults exchanged glances. Madam Pomfrey won what looked like a silent war in no more than a minute, though it felt like longer, and she stepped forward. "You three," she said, "out. We should have realized that you need your sleep and we'll finish our testing while you get some rest. Head on up to your dorm."

"There's no password right now," Ron said indignantly. "How're we supposed to get in?"

"The password is," here she grimaced, "Lethifold. Hagrid picked it. Tasteless, but that man… Go on now, get some sleep."

Grumbling but unwilling to push their luck further with Professor Dumbledore _and_ Professor Snape present, they went.

* * *

Later that morning, as early as the three of them dared to brave the wrath of Madam Pomfrey, found Ginny, Ron, and Hermione slipping down empty halls, heading to infirmary to visit with Harry again. 

"Since when do you call He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named You-Know-Who?" Ron asked her as they walked down corridors. "You're the one that was getting on my case last year about not doing the same."

Hermione flushed. 

"That's right," Ginny said, tilting her head. "Last night you were definitely using You-Know-Who."

"You'll tease," Hermione said quickly, hoping they would drop it. No such luck, of course. 

"Now you _have_ to tell us," Ron said with satisfaction. "Or you'll never get any peace."

She raised her chin, aware that her cheeks were red, and gave serious thought to ignoring the both of them. "It feels weird," Hermione said, after deciding that honesty was better in this case, "to do it when Harry's not around. He's much braver than I am."

Neither Ron nor Ginny laughed at that. On reflection, she supposed it wasn't such a laughing matter.

As they stepped into the infirmary, they froze, like they'd been hit with a Stunner, only no spell had been cast. Instead, they found Professor Dumbledore leaning over Harry, staring intently at his face.

Professor Snape noticed them first--Madam Pomfrey tutting as she bustled around cleaning up used vials and potions that had been taken from the cabinets and then decided against, and Professor Dumbledore did not bother to look their way. "Mr. Weasley, Miss Granger, Miss Weasley," he said, his voice as sharp as ever. Hermione took heart from the fact that it wasn't sharper. "As you can see, the Headmaster has taken it upon himself to inspect Mr. Potter's mind."

"Why not you?" Ron blurted.

Hermione elbowed him. "Because of You-Know-Who," she said quietly. "Professor Snape can't be seen in there and they don't know what sort of traps might be present."

"Professor Snape," Ginny asked bravely, having made her way closer to the bed. "Why do you think You-Know-Who put Harry to sleep? We were thinking about it last night but it doesn't make sense to us. If he could put a curse on him, wouldn't he use something that would kill Harry?"

"Well-reasoned, Miss Weasley," Professor Snape said, sounding weary. "As for why sleep, our investigations have given us a few unsettling clues as to what the reasoning might be. This spell _will_ kill Mr. Potter eventually. It works slowly, it will be a matter of weeks, perhaps even months, before any symptoms of worse than sleep begin to show, but if he cannot be woken then yes, eventually he will die."

Ginny went white. Ron sat down heavily in a chair and Hermione felt dizzy enough that she did the same. She was sure she looked no better than either of them. It was one thing to know that Harry was constantly in danger--hard to bear, yes, but he'd always managed to escape before--but now, to hear that if he didn't wake up, he'd just... one day not be there.

"Professor Snape," Hermione said, "are we allowed to know what the other unsettling clues are?"

To her surprise, Snape glanced at the Headmaster, who was still engrossed in investigating Harry's mind. She shifted, uncomfortable to realize that part of her would have rathered it be Snape doing that job. Snape, at least, would not stay there longer than he had to.

 _Don't be silly,_ she told herself, _Professor Dumbledore wouldn't hurt Harry._

"The Headmaster has indicated that he would prefer as few people to know as possible," Professor Snape began, "but I'm afraid in this case I disagree with him. You are Mr. Potter's... friends..." his voice twisted the word into something uncomfortable, "and may be able to shed some light on one of the things we discovered."

"What is it, then?"

"All indications we have are that the reason the curse could take hold was because Mr. Potter willingly accepted it."

Ginny gasped, Ron flinched backwards, and Hermione squeezed her eyes shut in horror. Harry accept a curse that would eventually kill him? But why? Why would he do something like that?

"You're wrong," Ginny said sharply, a tremble in her voice. "Why would he do that? He's a hero! Harry would never!"

"Never, Miss Weasley, is a very long time."

She recoiled, as if struck, from the silky venom in Professor Snape's voice. "It's just," Ginny said, her eyes huge, "it's just hard to understand. Even with everything... he's never just..."

"It's possible," Professor Snape conceded, "that he did not know what he was accepting. He may have thought it was his own thoughts, telling him to sleep, and we've all had that sort of thought before. That would count as permission."

Hermione felt like she was going to be ill. From the expression on Ron's face, he didn't feel much better. Ginny looked splotchy, equal parts flushed and pale, and near tears.

The Headmaster sighed and stirred, standing up carefully and then glancing at the rest of them without surprise. _I wonder,_ Hermione thought, _if he knew we were here or if he's just good at hiding his expression?_

"What about Harry?" Ron asked. "What did you find, Professor?"

"He's dreaming," Professor Dumbledore said, sounding weary. "Dreaming of a different life, one where he's happy. I could not make my voice reach him, no matter how I tried."

They were all silent for a long moment.

"Do you... do you know of any curse that does that?" Hermione asked tentatively.

"No, Miss Granger," Professor Dumbledore said, looking grave. "I suspect we will be doing a great deal of research before we come close to solving this."

She raised her chin. "We're helping," Hermione said determinedly. "We're good at research." Really, she had no idea how good Ginny was at it, and Ron was usually indifferent but _she_ was good at it and there was no way, not right now, that she was going to say that and have them, perhaps, keep her and send the others off.

Hermione did not think they would go, in any case.

Professor Dumbledore's eyes twinkled, a little of the kindly grandfather back in his demeanor. "That is indeed one of the reasons we've summoned you to Hogwarts. You will be staying with the Order until the end of the summer or until Harry is cured. Whichever comes first."

"Where will we be staying?" Ron asked. "Dad said that Sirius' place is no good anymore."

"Your father is right. As for where you'll be staying, there are several different places…"

* * *

Summer passed in a gloom of libraries and unfamiliar houses and constant, aching worry for Harry. Ginny threw herself into researching like it was _her_ life that depended on it and Ron and Hermione were not much behind her.

Harry, after all, was important to them all. And Ron, Hermione noticed, with a suppressed smile, did not mention Dean to Ginny again.

Hermione Granger poured over a multitude of books with no intention of leaving off any time soon. Her homework was done, had been since the first few days of the summer, but her days were still consumed with a different sort of problem. A very _Harry_ sort of problem, she thought miserably. Across the table from her, Ron and Ginny poured over books with the same intensity that she'd been devoting. 

She didn't ask if they'd completed their summer homework. She doubted it and while it would be comforting to nag at them, Hermione thought that it would be nothing but cruel. And this was far more important.

"I've nothing in this selection," she said, her voice a whisper in the hushed quiet of the library. A few desks away, Professor Lupin (who she was unable to think of as anything else despite the fact that he'd not taught for nearly three years now), Professor McGonagall, and Professor Snape poured over books that they had declared off-limits to the students.

She shivered. Dark Arts books. Hermione bit her lip as Ron's shoulders slumped and Ginny echoed his tired sigh. _We're not getting anywhere._

"This is rubbish," Ginny said scornfully, casting a glance at the teachers and lowering her voice even further. "They're the ones that have the better books for this."

Ron grimaced in agreement. "Do they think we haven't dealt with..." he faltered and then continued, "Harry's problems before? And you, Hermione, what are they doing keeping you from those? You know how to find things better than any of us."

She flushed slightly. "Don't," she said, "don't start that argument with them again. Especially not with Snape right there. He'll take off every point Gryffindor gets for the year if you do." She didn't care about the points. From the mutinous expression on Ron's face, he didn't either. This was about what was best for _Harry_. "And besides," Hermione added quickly, "they can't keep me from them forever. All they said was that we had to be of age, right?"

"And you're seventeen in a month," Ginny hissed, "which is great but what if Harry _dies_ before that?"

"Ginny, don't." Ron raked his hands wearily through his hair. He was far paler than usual after a summer, thanks to spending the majority of his time inside rather than outside in the sun. "She's trying to help. We're all trying to help."

Hermione swallowed her retort. Ginny was short-tempered at the best of times and I, I am no better, Hermione thought ruefully. _Especially not when I wonder if she doesn't have a point._ "Come on," she said abruptly, and stood. "Let's get more books and then sit outside. Maybe we'll think better if we're in fresher air."

They both eyed her for a moment, equal expressions of doubt on their faces, but long friendship meant that when she gathered up her books to put back, they did the same.

Each of them took a new armload of books and trooped out of the library. 

"Sitting outside isn't going to help us," Ron said.

"It might improve our moods," Hermione said, glancing sharply at the portraits that were watching them. 

"Maybe," Ginny said thoughtfully, "what we need is a new perspective on this. I still think we should have asked Luna to come to school early. She's top of my year for all that she's up in the clouds a lot."

Hermione bit her tongue and carefully didn't say her first retort. "Professor Dumbledore thought it best that the number of people who were in the know was kept as small as possible."

"I know," Ginny said, annoyed, "but I'm just _saying_."

Ron sighed.

Hogwarts in the summer, Hermione thought as they all three lapsed into an uncomfortable silence, was gorgeous. They hadn't been at the castle for most of the summer, having been shuffled between a grimy old manor that the Headmaster had said had been given to him and promptly forgotten years ago and other houses of similarly murky pasts. She doubted the veracity of any of the stories they'd been told and yet barely cared.

A few of the Professors had been in and out of Grimmauld Place since Sirius had died but without Harry awake and able to take over the magical inheritance of the house and Kreacher, they didn't dare stay there. Not when at this delicate junction, Bellatrix Lestrange and Narcissa Malfoy had equal claim to the house.

And Andromeda Tonks had slammed the door in the Headmaster's face when he'd come to talk to her. Hermione wondered why. Tonks had been tight-lipped and grim when she'd come back from seeing her mother, the Headmaster in tow, and it had unsettled them enough that she didn't think anyone had dared to ask what had gone wrong.

 _Everything is going wrong this summer,_ she thought, wishing idly one of her hands was free so that she could tuck her hair properly back behind her ears. _And we're the lucky ones._

The Daily Prophet and The Quibbler both were painting grim pictures of exactly what You-Know-Who had been up to during the summer months. So many people missing. So many questions left unanswered. Key amongst them was why, of course, but more pressingly and more frighteningly was _how_ was he managing the kidnappings? Some of the homes that people had disappeared from were incredibly well warded.

But they had no answers to that either.

Outside was almost blinding after days and days of being inside with dusty books and heavy tables. The grass as brilliant as Harry's eyes and the sky an almost painful blue. The sun turned Ron and Ginny's hair the colour of molten copper and washed away some of the tension in their faces.

Despite herself, she could feel the warmth doing the same to her.

"So," Ron said, once they'd settled under a tree, "did you have an idea or are we really out here because you think it'd be better for us?"

She smiled wanly. "A little from column A and a little from column B."

"What's this idea?" Ginny asked, sorting through the books they'd brought and pulling one from the pile at random to flip through it.

"Well," she said, tucking her legs underneath her, "I think it's interesting that no one has been able to find anything about this curse, even though we've spent two months searching for it."

"There's a lot more than two months' worth of Dark curses in the world," Ron pointed out, like he was reluctant to do so. He rubbed at the scars the brains from the Department of Mysteries had left on his arms like they pained him. "And You-Know-Who spent decades travelling the world. Who knows where he picked it up?" Ron moodily plucked at some grass. "Or even invented it," he added. "That's possible too."

She had to concede it was.

"I can't shake the idea that we're looking in the wrong place though," Hermione continued doggedly. "Everything we've looked at has had death as the main result of the curse."

"That's what's going to happen," Ginny said with the air of one readying herself for an argument. "Why wouldn't You-Know-Who have used a curse like that?"

"I know," Hermione said impatiently, "but that's the thing. He knows all sorts of curses--why would he pick one that doesn't kill Harry _quicker_?"

"Are you mental?" Ron yelped. "We don't want him to kill Harry quicker!"

"I never said I did either," Hermione snapped. "But why wouldn't _You-Know-Who_ want that?

None of them had any response to that and an uncomfortable silence settled around them.

Three days until the end of summer vacation.

* * *


	3. Won't Come Out

" _Crucio!_ "

The Muggle woman shrieked and dropped, writhing, and kept on screaming a long ragged sound that held a desperate plea for mercy in it, though it was shrouded and over-whelmed by her agony. Theodore resisted the urge to cover his ears. It would not block out the sound adequately and it would give away his discomfort. He could not afford that. Not here and now. He shifted slightly, leaning back into the heavy drapes that, when the alcove he stood in was not in use, were left closed to keep it separate from the main hall, and cast a glance at his so-called companions.

So-called because the only things that glued them together were that all of them had a parent, or two, who were heavily involved with the Dark Lord and they were all Slytherin. Flint was at the forefront, watching closely as possible, though sweat beaded his forehead and Theodore doubted he was there of his own free will. He was proving a point to someone, probably his father, to show he could handle watching the brutality. Malfoy, too, was watching at the front, his fingers clenched on the bannister as if he wanted to turn away and knew better than to dare--not with Crabbe and Goyle watching. For the same reason, Theodore did not leave the room. Instead he affected boredom with the proceedings below and envied Blaise bitterly for Blaise was out of the country, visiting Italy with his mother, and did not have to watch this.

The woman kept screaming. Theodore wondered if they would hold her under until her mind broke and then give her to the werewolves or if they would let the curse go on until her heart stopped. He hoped for the latter and, because of that hope, suspected the former more likely. 

Parkinson hovered next to Malfoy, looking torn between watching with wide eyes and holding onto Malfoy and not watching at all and being unable to decide either, compromised by not looking and not touching but not leaving either. The too-pale faces of Daphne and Astoria Greengrass were a contrast to the emotions crossing Parkinson's face. Warrington had his arms crossed over his chest, standing slightly in front of the Greengrass sisters as if to shield them though none of them lifted a wand to silence the screams.

They knew the penalties for that.

This was their testing.

 _Overall,_ Theodore thought, _we fail._

He felt comfortable including himself in the failing group when that meant he _didn't_ find pointless cruelty to be an intriguing concept. Crabbe and Goyle, he thought, passed. Or, if they did not, were far better at hiding it than the rest of them. Parkinson and Malfoy hovered on the edge. Warrington--he couldn't tell, just that he had the decency to try to keep the Greengrass sisters out of it as much as possible. But of course, Daphne was engaged to him. Any good fiancé would do the same, then, and that left Theodore less certain of his motives in any way.

And yet, he thought they all preferred the endless, climbing to madness, screams of this woman when compared to what Greyback had done when he'd taken the stage the three nights ago, under the light of the full moon. _I never want to see him eat anyone ever again._

Bole had been unable to handle watching and had left the alcove. It had been two days since any of them had seen him and none of them held out much optimism for his survival. _In this way, the Dark Lord finds the pure-bloods who can stomach his reign of terror._ Theodore's eyes slid to watch Astoria as she leaned against her sister. _And punishes the moderates and light-siding purebloods._

All along the great hall of the long-forgotten castle that the Dark Lord had claimed as his own there were similar alcoves. Each of them had pure-bloods of varying sympathies in them, forced to watch what happened below. They had been promised, if they survived the summer, they could go back to their homes, their families, their schools. Theodore suspected that a great many of their parents had been forced into silence with the promise that, if they kept the disappearance of their children a secret, they would get their children back.

He didn't know for sure, though. No newspapers were permitted within the castle and none of them were allowed to write. _There is most of the summer to go. We shall all be broken by the end of it at this rate._

The woman's screams stopped abruptly in a broken gurgle.

"Her ribs snapped," Flint reported. His voice was harsh. "Punctured a lung. She's choking on blood now."

Daphne closed her eyes, going two shades paler, and wrapped an arm more firmly around Astoria's shoulders. Malfoy shivered as Parkinson peered down and then drew back, shuddering herself. Theodore remained where he was--ostensibly watching but angled just so that he couldn't see the victim. He could still hear her, sobbing through the hacking coughs that were thick with liquid, but he didn't look. 

He wondered if the others could tell, or if they thought he had a full view and wasn't turning away. 

"Is she the last for the night?" It was Crabbe who asked what all of them wanted to know but had not dared verbalize. Crabbe could because Crabbe could say it with disappointment in his voice.

Theodore swallowed bile. 

"The schedule says two more," Flint said, after a long moment where no one else even breathed. 

"Are we going to be kept here for the summer, do you think?" Theodore asked, to draw attention away from the way Astoria's face crumpled. She was only twelve, poor thing. He kept his voice as bland as he could. "Not that I mind," or would admit to minding, which most of the people here understood, "but most of us have summer homework and while Professor Snape would understand if we do not have it done, none of the other teachers would."

They stared at him like he was speaking another language.

He didn't blame them. Homework was the last thing he wanted to be talking about and, yet, it was casual enough that he thought it might be a viable topic, as if he really _didn't_ care what was going on below them. Across the hall he could see the pale faces of other purebloods. Some Hogwarts age, others older. 

_Thank god for small mercies,_ he thought, _that there are none younger._

Even Astoria, for all her youth, was going into her second year at Hogwarts. Looking at her, it didn't make much of a difference but Theodore pretended it did. If he stopped pretending then he was going to go the way of Bole and he didn't dare--he didn't have the excuse, even, of being from a moderate family. His father, had he not been in Azkaban, would have been down there, talking to the other Death Eaters.

No answer to his question came but that was all right. He watched across the hall, in silence, trying to guess who was on the other side and if they were doing the same as he was. Who watched, who didn't, who passed and who failed and how to tell when that all depended on what side of the war you were on.

Frankly Theodore thought that, even with all of this, he fell into the moderates. He had no wish, no interest to deal with Muggles--even the Muggleborn were only to be tolerated by him, truthfully, though they had the important part, they had magic--but all the same, these last few days had proven something to him:

He had zero interest in seeing anyone killed. He had even less than zero interest in doing any killing himself.

Theodore had suspicions that before the Dark Lord let them leave, those that had made it through the gauntlet of horrors, would be forced to kill at least once. A graduation exercise, so to speak. A way of dirtying their hands to keep their mouths shut. The Dark Lord wouldn't curse them to do it. If they didn't, they were dead. The rules of self-preservation meant that was enough of a goad for many of them to kill. 

It would be enough for him, he knew, brutally honest with himself. Theodore had no intentions of dying here.

He hadn't spoken of his belief. He knew some of the others had guessed where this would go. Right now, with the exception of Greyback's attack, which had been the first they'd watched and done for the shock value, the deaths had been relatively clean. Horrific, but clean.

They could not stay that way. Already, this woman's torture and death was worse than what had occurred the past few nights. 

Behind them, a door opened and a masked and robed Death Eater slipped into the room. None of them moved. The Death Eater did not leave the room and, instead, settled down on a chair to watch them watch the next exhibit.

Daphne's face turned stony. Astoria's lower lip quivered but no sound or tears escaped her. Malfoy looked like he was made of wax and even Parkinson looked like a wet blanket.

Theodore's fingers itched for his wand and he resisted the urge to toy with it. No need to give everyone a signal for how uncomfortable he was. Some would take heart from it but others would carry the tale directly to their parents and the Dark Lord.

_I can't wait for this summer to end._

And yet, it was an ugly thought knowing, too, that by the end of the summer he'd either be a murderer or he'd be dead. _That goes for all of us._

The next woman they brought out was stark naked and from her expression, she'd watched the last woman be tortured and had guessed what was in store for her. 

Theodore clutched the stoic edges of his demeanor closer around his heart and wished he dared to close his eyes.

None of them did and none of them turned away. 

In other alcoves there were likely students from other Houses, from other countries, and he had no idea what it was that they thought and did in order to endure.

In this alcove, however, they were all Slytherin. That meant something.

_Hogwarts, at least, forces us to learn to survive._

Even when the woman was placed under the Imperius and forced to rip off her own arm, none of them flinched. 

To do so would be to forfeit their own survival and they all knew it.

 _We're not brave,_ he thought, face expressionless. _Not in a way that's loud and flashy. But this is our world and only the strong survive._

And being able to be strong, here and now, took its own sort of bravery.

As the woman, bleeding profusely from where her arm used to be, lifted the ravaged limb in her other hand and took a bite out of it, forced to do so by the Imperius Curse, Theodore wished, a little, that his bravery was that of a Gryffindor's.

Then he could do something stupid and it would be decided. He would probably die.

But watching the woman eat herself, he thought that might be the easy way out.

A commotion across the hall drew his attention. Red hair, he realized, shockingly so. _A Weasley? Or is it another pure-blood?_ They were too far away to know for sure and none of them asked their watcher.

None of the Slytherins moved more than their eyes as they watched the red-head struggle, presumably with the watcher in that alcove, and then, seemingly winning, leap down.

It was magic that kept their legs from being broken as they landed on the main floor.

Green light flashed and the so-called wannabe hero collapsed, dead.

Helping nothing, helping no one, and dying quickly. The easy way out. Theodore held himself rigid and didn't look away when they forced the woman, bleeding to death under the Imperius, to stand, to make her way over to the body of the person who'd tried to do something to help her, however foolish and ill-thought out it had been, and pluck the eyes from the fresh corpse.

She ate them.

Theodore wished he could self-Obliviate.

* * *

"Nott."

Theodore paused in his reading--a treatise on the Dark Arts in medicine--and then glanced up, one finger marking his place. "Malfoy."

Draco Malfoy looked like crap. His face was tight and drawn and his hair slightly disheveled, like he'd forgotten how to charm it into place. He hadn't, Theodore knew, it was just that this place, wherever it was, was getting to him.

It was getting to Theodore too, though he took greater pains to hide it. In that, his colouring--dark hair, dark eyes, and skin that tanned rather than burnt and peeled like Malfoy's--aided him. If he looked a little drawn, well, it was because he was up at all hours reading through the castle's library.

Malfoy stepped in, uneasy, perhaps at the coolness in Theodore's voice. Or perhaps not, Theodore thought, watching the way that Malfoy struggled to hide his discomfort and the way his gaze flitted, like a scared bird's, around the room. 

After a moment, Theodore took pity on him. "I'm surprised to see you here," he said, "no one but me has been much of a fan of the library."

It was, as Daphne had murmured, too _Dark_ for their tastes given that they already had their fill of Darkness in each evening's mandatory 'entertainment'. Theodore didn't share that comment with anyone else but he understood it. Books had always been his friends though and he was loathe to give up one small bit of familiarity when this entire summer was one long unsettled state of mind. 

"It's summer," Malfoy said, his shoulders relaxing slightly. He'd gotten the message; no one else was in the library right now. "What sort of person wants to spend their days trapped up with musty old books after doing that for most of the year already? Honestly, Nott."

"And yet," Theodore murmured, "here you are. Bored?"

Malfoy's laugh was quick, sharp and brittle. "None of us are," he said, throwing his head back arrogantly. "It's been an enlightening summer." 

The words were right, Theodore thought critically. The arrogance was a good cover. Malfoy managed to not gesture to his newly Marked arm, which was even better.

But none of it hid the way there was something wild, panicked and lost in the tightness around Malfoy's eyes. Something fragile.

 _I don't want to be involved in this,_ Theodore thought hard at him. _Not when our fathers are both imprisoned due to their own mistakes and you're being punished for your father's transgressions._

That led down the garden trail to thoughts of what it would mean for him. If Malfoy was being punished this way, with some impossible task (they'd been told as much, though no further details, by the other Death Eaters last night at dinner), then how were they going to punish _him_?

"I can recommend a book," Theodore said, after a silence a few shades too long, "if you want more enlightenment in your hot summer days." The sarcasm was layered on thick but it was nothing out of the ordinary, as anyone who knew them from school would know.

 _And I can see Crabbe lurking behind Malfoy. I don't think Malfoy is aware of it, though_.

Every instinct Theodore had begged him to bow out of the conversation quickly, before Malfoy said anything that implicated either of them in things that he didn't need spread around. Things like a doubt for the Dark Lord. A _fear_ of him was expected but doubt, like a wildfire, was undesirable. 

"No," Malfoy said, with a twisted smile. "I don't want a book. Walk with me?"

The way he said it made it an offer and there was something in the tone that left Theodore trying to figure out the angles and ramifications of this. Was Malfoy to lead _him_ to a punishment?

But... he knew Malfoy better than most, since for five long years they had roomed together. Theodore didn't think he was lying. _If there is a trick here, it is one being played on Malfoy as well._

"What about a fly?" Theodore suggested. "We're allowed, right?"

Malfoy looked at him, surprise crossing his pale face. "I haven't heard it said that we're _not_ ," he said slowly. "Which is not the same as permission to do so."

Theodore slipped a cloth bookmark into place and closed his book, setting it on the table where anyone who wanted to see what he was reading would be able to do so easily. He was under no illusions that they were under surveillance enough for that to be a reasonable assumption. Not when there were a great many purebloods trapped on the castle grounds and at least half of those wanted out desperately.

He knew. He was one of them. The wards prevented anyone from leaving the lands surrounding the castle, though they were allowed outside, which Theodore considered both a kindness and a cruelty.

"Then let's go," Theodore said, standing. "If we're doing something wrong, someone will stop us. If we aren't, then we'll get to enjoy being up in the air."

Malfoy, thank Merlin, had enough sense to not comment on the fact that Theodore had never expressed a particular inclination towards flying before in his life. Indeed, Theodore had suffered through the first year's mandatory broom lessons, passed them, and promptly avoided using a broom as much as possible.

"Sure," Malfoy said, his stormy grey eyes direct. "I want out."

Crabbe took the message to mean they were still talking about flying. Theodore got the real message. Perhaps Malfoy _did_ know the other boy was there, behind him.

"You'll fly rings around me," Theodore said easily as Crabbe melted away into the shadows and he and Malfoy fell into step. "Take it easy, all right?"

"I'll show you a few tricks," Malfoy said, a faint smile hovering on his lips for what Theodore thought was the first time all summer. "You never know, maybe you'll get good enough one day to try out for the team."

Theodore scoffed and they continued their, to all appearances, amicable conversation about Quidditch as they headed outside. No one stopped them. That was, he thought, in some circumstances to be considered permission. 

Sort of.

The fact that they were being allowed might mean that they would later be punished for it. It was a possibility that couldn't quite be ignored.

Once they were outside, though, Theodore gave into the urge to respond to Malfoy's confession now that Crabbe had disappeared. No doubt another watcher would be along soon.

"I'm glad we're out," Theodore said as he stretched. There was a broom shed on the grounds. They made their way towards that. "Sometimes you have good ideas."

"Prat," Malfoy said, without heat. "This was your idea. Take responsibility for it if we get in trouble."

"I think we'll be found equally guilty," he replied lightly. "And isn't that a comfort?"

"Not really, no." Malfoy hesitated, then said, "I hate Muggles."

Theodore gave him a level look. "So do I."

"But this is…" Malfoy's voice dropped even as he kept the same faint smile he'd had before. "Not my idea of fun."

"Well," Theodore said, a warning in his voice as they stepped into the poorly-lit shed and surveyed the brooms critically, "what else can we do?"

Both of them were silent.

What else _could_ they do?

 _I have no wish to die,_ Theodore thought, _and neither does Malfoy._

But they dropped the conversation in favour of flight. Neither of them were surprised when Flint and Goyle came by less than ten minutes later to join them.

They never revisited the conversation. Malfoy's gaze was troubled, afterwards, a little more often. Theodore pulled further into himself, spending even more time in the library.

Both of them were thinking over their options.

Neither of them found them much to their liking.

* * *

Five weeks later Theodore watched expressionlessly as Astoria Greengrass used the Cutting Curse on a man and then stood there, as blank-faced as a professional, while the man bled to death.

The Death Eaters clapped their approval and didn't notice the fine trembling in her shoulders as she raised her head proudly and left the room at their permission, her dignity wrapped around her like a cloak.

 _Good girl,_ Theodore thought. _Stay alive._

It was what they did, as Slytherins. Survive. He didn't know what the purebloods from the other Houses were using as their reasoning to stay alive. To his mild surprise, all four Houses were making an approximately equal showing.

They'd all lost some and all of them knew that those who'd lost were killed. He wondered if their parents would raise a fuss about their murdered children--if they would dare to do so when the Dark Lord had already proven to be able to walk through their wards with impunity.

Perhaps, he thought, it was fear that kept them all alive now.

There was only this and then they were going to be sent back to their homes for the last week of summer. It was a risk, they were taking, letting them go. But in order to leave, as he'd predicted, they were forced to become murderers.

_That will keep us silent, I think. And Dumbledore, it seems, has no time for anyone now that Potter's come down with something that amuses the Dark Lord a great deal. There is no redemption there, no protection. We are on our own._

Daphne Greengrass was next. She passed.

Then Malfoy. He passed too, his face pale but composed. 

Then it was his turn. 

Theodore stepped out of the dwindling line and stood stoically as the Muggle he'd have to kill in order to leave the room alive was brought in. He noticed the details--a sprinkle of stubble, too-wide blue eyes with too much white showing, a coat that was new--and filed them away for his nightmares.

Astoria had been able to get away with using the Cutting Curse because she was only twelve, her birthday in two days, and no one expected a twelve year-old's magic to be able to support the weight of using an Unforgivable.

The rest of them were not so lucky.

Theodore stared at the man who looked at him with uncomprehending dread, summoning his self-loathing and his hatred for this situation both, and flicked his wand at him with a gesture that was so controlled it looked easy. 

" _Avada Kedavra_."

Green light flashed and the man sagged, dead.

 _I want out_ , Theodore thought as he nodded his head graciously to the applause and left the room without a backwards glance at those left behind.

_But how?_

* * *

Four days later, after having been immersed in the Nott family library for the majority of the time since he'd stumbled out of the Floo, Theodore had part of what he hoped would become his answer. 

More troubling was the fact that for all of the conditions required, he had no way to fulfill them on his own. 

Still. It was a start. Theodore flipped through the pages of the book and leaned against the shelf. Sunlight, normally comforting, was banned from this area of the library. If his father had been home, he'd have beaten him for daring to enter this part of it. _But my father is not here,_ Theodore thought rebelliously. _And I, I will not be forced to recreate his mistakes._

The book was small and slim with yellowed pages and a deep purple cover that was made of dragon hide. The words _Butterfly Bound_ were emblazoned on the spine, the front of the book left blank. A satin bookmark, a brilliant scarlet, was attached. He curled his fingers around the book's spine, closing it gently, and slipped it into his bag, then carefully rearranged the shelf where it had been to look as if there'd never been another book there. The house elves would say nothing, could say nothing--his father had removed their tongues years ago--and his father was in Azkaban, thanks to Harry Potter and his friends.

But it paid to be careful anyway, he thought, and murmured a spell that would obliterate all traces of his presence at this particular shelf.

Then he left the library. 

He had summer homework to do. After that, he promised, he'd look into getting around some of the conditions. He was, after all, clever.

It shouldn't be too hard.

Modesty had never been a virtue of his. And he'd never been this motivated before.

* * *


	4. New Routines

Hermione had never wanted to see the Hogwarts Express less. From the matching glum expressions on Ron and Ginny's faces as Mrs. Weasley fussed over them, they felt the same way.

It was ridiculous, she thought, that they'd spent most of the summer just a Floo away from the library only to have to take the train to the school. Logically, she knew why: people would wonder if they weren't on the train. It would be bad enough when they realized that Harry wasn't with them. Professor Dumbledore had managed to keep his affliction from the public.

_Harry is off training for the war._ That was the excuse they were supposed to use to explain his not being on the train. 

It was reasonable. Plausible. It was a total farce.

And Hermione begrudged the time away from books that might be able to help Harry. After a summer of looking, though, cold and slick dread filled her stomach at the thought that maybe, just maybe, there wasn't a way to help him.

Professor Dumbledore had assured them that what Harry was under was not leaving him trapped in a nightmare that would break him eventually. At least his dreams were sweet. That was a small comfort. 

"Finally," Ron groused, shrugging his shoulders irritably as he slouched over to her. "Mum's gotten worse than ever."

Hermione smiled slightly, almost mechanically, as she glanced around Ron to see that Ginny was engulfed in a hug that lifted her off her feet. "She's worried," Hermione said. "Who can blame her?"

"Me," Ron said promptly, without shame. "Your parents don't fuss that way. Not that I don't understand but... it's a bit much, really."

The old, familiar twist of guilt in her stomach was subdued. Even the mention of her parents was little in comparison to the fact that Harry was lost in dreams and no one could wake him. "My parents don't know," she said. "That's why they don't fuss."

It had started back in first year, her lying to her parents, and then she'd never quite been able to shake the habit. As the years went on and the dangers got worse, truth to tell, she didn't try very hard to change her ways. It was better for them if they didn't know what she got up to every year.

She wondered when that lie had started sounding like the truth to her in reality instead of just a weak excuse. Hermione couldn't remember. She tucked an errant bit of hair back behind one ear as Ginny joined them, looking as disgruntled as Ron.

"Let's go and grab seats," Hermione said hurriedly as the train blew a warning whistle. "Ginny, do you mind looking after our things while we're in the meeting?"

Ginny rolled her eyes as if to say yes, of course that's fine, and they hurried onto the train, lugging their trunks down the crowded middle until they found a compartment that was empty. 

"Quick," Hermione said, "we've got to change into our robes and get ready. There's supposed to be new security on board this time around."

"Don't nag," Ron replied. "I know. I got the same letter you did, remember?"

Ginny just shook her head and occupied herself with chatting to Luna and Neville as they entered the compartment. With a muttered hello, Hermione went to go and change. 

A few minutes later, she and Ron entered the Prefect's compartment together. Susan Bones and Ernie MacMillan from Hufflepuff greeted them with smiles. Padma Patil and Terry Boot each waved a hand in their direction, never looking up from their game, which looked like a complicated mess of cards to her. The other Prefects either said hello or ignored them as was their wont. 

"Where are the Slytherins?" Ron murmured in her ear, startling her as they took seats.

Hermione's eyes narrowed slightly as she surveyed the room again. He was right. Only three of the houses were represented in the room. None of the Slytherin Prefects were here yet. "Odd," she said thoughtfully.

"You don't suppose that Dumbledore kicked them all out?" Ron asked, sounding hopeful. "Imagine that! Grand start to the year."

For all that he sounded hopeful, though, he didn't sound _optimistic_. She felt much the same way, push come to shove. It was a nice fantasy, given that they'd had nothing but trouble with the Slytherins.

_But there's no way he would kick out an entire quarter of the school just because a few of them got in our way._ The truth of that statement left her feeling slightly out of sorts.

"They're not late yet," she said reasonably, instead of giving into the urge to say anything juvenile. "Perhaps they're just talking with friends."

Ron's eyebrows rose. "All of them?"

"Why not? There's only six of them. That's not very long odds." 

They bickered comfortably about the matter, both of them, Hermione thought, seizing gratefully on the distraction. And if they were arguing, there was less of a chance that anyone would interrupt them to ask about the war, or Harry. 

Neither of them wanted to talk about Harry. Neither of them wanted to admit that there was a good chance that all of the Slytherins missing had been amongst the kidnapped and then returned children of the summer. Hermione shivered. _What had their summers been like?_

As the argument, such as it was, trailed off, she glanced at Ron, who'd fallen silent, with the same look he had in his eyes when he was deeply into a game of chess against an opponent who actually challenged him as he studied the room. It was tempting to ask him what he was thinking about. Hermione left him to his thoughts, though, if only because they had no idea here who was really on their side or not.

Hope would lead them to believe everyone was. Hope, she thought, was a cruel gift.

Minutes ticked by and the Slytherins still had not appeared. She wasn't the only one who began glancing uneasily at the doorway, as if by doing so, the Slytherins would appear quicker.

Ron was more engrossed in his thoughts and did not do the same. Hermione nudged him and he looked at her. "Now," she murmured, "they're late."

His eyes narrowed at the door.

"Well," said Head Girl, Jessica Williamson of Hufflepuff, standing and smoothing down her robes nervously, "we should probably get--"

The door to the compartment slid open and one after another the Slytherin Prefects filed in.

_And they don't look well at all._

The best term to describe them, Hermione thought, was _subdued_. They looked pale, a few of them looked like they'd lost weight. None of them had summer tans. Even more out of the ordinary, they said nothing as they arranged themselves in the compartment.

"Glad you could make it," Jeremy Ansley, the Head Boy and a Ravenclaw, said briskly, without even a trace of sarcasm. Even when Hermione glanced at Pansy, the other girl didn't give the habitual sneer. "We were just about to start."

Pansy didn't even register her presence, Hermione realized and felt troubled for it. She, if she was honest, strongly disliked the other girl. But this was out of character for Pansy and that was… unusual. Even more so when paired with the tired, tight expressions of the other Slytherins.

_What had happened to them?_

Hermione filed it away to talk about later with Ron and the others—how she wished Harry was awake!—and resigned herself to the fact that it was not, in any way, likely to be her business. 

It was tempting to believe that and hard too at the same time. 

After all, she couldn't forget that most of the Slytherins were part of You-Know-Who's side and even if they were not, they were most certainly Dark wizards and witches as the majority.

_Exceptions can happen,_ she acknowledged generously as Jessica and Jeremy took it in turns to explain the duties of the Prefects to the newcomers in their group, _but I have seen nothing to prove any of them are one._

She wished Ginny was here and wondered why she wasn't. Her marks were good and as far as Hermione knew, Ginny did not earn many detentions. 

Perhaps Ginny had not wanted it, Hermione thought unhappily. Or perhaps, because of the diary…

"And now," Jeremy said, looking grave, "we've been asked to cover a few new rules and duties for the Prefects. Those of you who know your history," his tone implied that they'd _all_ better know their history, "these adapted rules will sound familiar and for good reason." 

Hermione straightened in her seat, leaning forward interestedly while Ron slumped back, as if there was only so much attention the both of them could pay to this meeting and the more one of them exhibited, the less the other would do. There was only one set of rules she could think of that fit Jeremy's graveness. "Are you talking about the rules from—"

Padma interrupted her, dark eyes keen. "The Dark Lord Strictures?"

"I've heard of those," Ron said slowly. "Dad said they saved a lot of lives. They weren't originally meant for Prefects but rather for the Aurors and the Magical Law Enforcement's Hit Wizards to follow when guarding an occupied building."

"We're not being expected to _fight_ , are we?" asked one of the fifth year Hufflepuff Prefects. Hermione made note to get the new Prefects names later and commit them to memory. "We're not anything like the Aurors."

All of them were careful not to look at the Slytherins as that was said. _No,_ Hermione thought, _we're not at all like the Aurors._

_Some of us are the enemy._

"No, no," Jessica soothed, with a laugh that comforted, from their expressions, none of them. It certainly didn't do anything for Hermione's nerves. "We said they were adapted from, not that they were exactly the same." Her bight brown eyes were as frank and open as her voice. Hermione could see why Professor Dumbledore would have chosen her as Head Girl. 

"What do you want us to do then?" It was Malfoy's voice but it wasn't, she thought, Malfoy's usual half-snarl, half-sneer. It wasn't even a proper drawl. Hermione tried to place if she'd ever heard Malfoy sound so… human… before and couldn't.

When she glanced at Ron, to see if he'd noticed, she found him staring at his hands, frowning heavily in thought.

"In past years," Jeremy said, "patrol has been done in either groups of two or by each Prefect alone. This year, you'll be operating in groups of four."

Hermione's eyes narrowed. That would double the time it took them to complete their patrols. From the grimacing going around the room, she wasn't the only one who'd immediately spotted that downside.

"How will the teams be decided?" Ernie asked, like this was an exam and he was going to be quizzed on it.

Not, Hermione conceded, that she was really much better. It was only because he'd beaten her to the question that she wasn't the one who sounded like that. 

"One from each House," Jessica said, grimacing as if she anticipated some argument. "Each team will consist of two boys and two girls. The teams are split by year." 

Hermione fought not to let her lip curl. That meant she'd be working closely with either Malfoy or Pansy on an almost daily basis. _I do not need this._

"Why?" Susan asked, toying absently, nervously, with her long braids. "Wouldn't it make more sense to let us go with teams we'll be comfortable in? With friends?" 

"It's strategy," Ron said, interrupting the Head Girl and not giving any sign that he'd noticed. His eyes were still focused on his hands and Hermione wished, perhaps irrationally, that he'd look up. "If we're with our friends, we're likely to trust them. Right now, we can't trust anyone so they're putting us with people who we don't want to work with. Also, with four of us on a team, it's lower odds that we'll be overpowered if there's one, or even two traitors in the group."

They were all silent for a moment, contemplating that.

It was an ugly thought.

Jessica sighed. "Weasley's about got it right. The official party line is that it's to foster inter-House unity and to encourage us to mingle outside of our Houses."

"Who believed that?" inquired Nadia, Gryffindor's seventh year Prefect. "That's flimsy."

"The Board of Governors believed it enough to approve the rule change," Jessica said evenly. "I know it's crap," there were a few muted giggles as the Head Girl said that so plainly, "but in public, you will act as if you believe in it."

"Or what?" asked a fifth year Slytherin. 

"You'll be stripped of your badge," Jeremy said flatly. "The Headmaster is insistent that these rules remain in place and to do that we are expected to uphold his wishes. If you don't like it, you don't have to stay Prefect. Give up your badge and we'll have your Head of House choose someone to take your place."

None of them moved. Hermione was pretty sure that the look on her face matched the wide-eyed horror on Padma's at the very thought of their badges being taken away. It was something that they'd worked hard for.

It was an honour.

"Only thirty-nine Prefects have lost their badges in the more than thousand years that Hogwarts has existed," said Jeremy. "We have been supports, we have been guides, we have been defenders. For this war, we are the watchers. If anything out of the ordinary happens, you are to alert the nearest Head of House. If you suspect the nearest Head of House in instigating something out of the ordinary, you are to head directly to the Headmaster's office. Even if he cannot meet you, there are measures in place to ensure you can give your report. None of you are to be alone at any time while on patrol. You are not to split up."

"Who are we with?" Ron asked, his voice shattering the solemn quiet that had fallen with Jeremy's words. He looked up from his hands now and his blue eyes were hard. "And what other rules are we adapting from the Strictures? Not just that one, right?"

Hermione bit her lip. While she could think of a few new rules, she had no way of knowing the exact content of the Strictures and as such, couldn't narrow her guesses down. The actual rules were not available to the general public. 

To keep the Wizarding public safe was the official line of reasoning for that lack of transparency.

How much did Ron know about them? she wondered. He sounded like he knew a great deal.

Was that because his dad was in the Ministry? Or was it something that the pure-bloods learnt? Hermione mentally stomped on the resurgence of that old complaint. No, it wasn't fair that the pure-bloods got things that the Muggleborn didn't but she didn't know if this was yet another way they were privileged.

There wasn't anything she could do about it right now. Yet. One day, she'd find a way to make it fairer for everyone. But today… today was about the new rules.

"We're going to be here for a while," Jeremy told them all. "I suggest you settle in comfortably."

"What about patrol on the train? Aren't we supposed to do that?" asked a seventh year Slytherin. 

"Aurors are handling it," Jeremy said. "Any further questions?"

None of them had any that they were willing to ask. Jeremy took a deep breath. "All right," he said, "if you've got any from here on out, please hold them until we're done outlining everything. You can ask your questions after the overview. Jessica?"

Jessica smiled reassuringly at them all, her bearing not confident, Hermione thought, but resolute. It was astonishingly effective as the Head Girl began speaking about the changes at Hogwarts this year and what their role would be.

Hermione leaned forward, listening intently, her hands absently tugging out parchment and a Self-Inking Quill to take notes with. But even as she listened, she couldn't help but notice that Ron was still frowning and not, from his expression, from the rules they were having laid out. 

_What's wrong?_ she scribbled on a corner of her notes and nudged him pointedly.

He glanced at the note and then shook his head, mouthing the words 'not here'. She settled back, feeling unsatisfied and yet not having the time to dwell on it.

* * *

It was getting dark by the time they left the Prefects' compartment and Hermione's head felt like an over-soaked sponge. She found it distinctly unfair that of her and Ron, he looked less overwhelmed by the new regulations they were expected to abide by and enforce than she was, and as a result she was left feeling distinctly out-of-sorts.

"Since when do you actually listen to a lecture?" she asked, knowing her voice was on the waspish side. 

Ron rubbed his nose. "I like strategy," he said absently. "The meeting was interesting."

It was entirely disgusting, Hermione thought, that he could have such a good mind for the things he _wanted_ to learn and such absolute mediocrity for the rest of what people tried to teach him.

She drew in breath to respond and nearly walked into him as he stopped abruptly.

"What's Nott doing in our compartment?" Ron asked suspiciously.

" _What?_ " Hermione pushed past him to see that he was right. Nott was leaning in the doorway of their compartment, talking to someone too quietly to make out the words. 

With a quick glance exchanged both her and Ron continued towards the compartment. As they approached, Nott looked up, his face as pale as the other Slytherins though she couldn't remember ever seeing him with a tan, and his eyes darkly shadowed. "Weasley," he said coolly. "Granger."

"Nott," Ron replied, sounding surly. "Get lost on the way to your compartment?"

"Just talking," Nott replied. "I'm leaving now," he added, to the inside of the compartment. "I'll talk to you later. The library, tomorrow after class?"

There was a murmured assent.

Then, with a nod, Nott left. Hermione peered in the compartment as Ron muttered about how freaky was it that a Slytherin was being practically _civil_. "Did he really just come to talk?"

It was Luna who answered her. "Oh yes," she said, "we do that sometimes. He knows quite a lot about unusual creatures."

Neville and Ginny looked bemused and Hermione half-seriously wondered if their faces would be stuck that way.

"This," Ron said from behind her, "has been on hell of a day."

Hermione could only agree.

* * *

The first strange thing that Theodore thought was both curious and noteworthy was that, upon reaching Hogwarts, the welcoming feast was postponed for two hours. Word filtered through the students and, when Professor Snape herded them down to the dorms, thin-lipped and cold, Theodore wondered why. The first years, all Unsorted, were escorted off by Professor Burbage who talked to them kindly. 

There had been times, over the years, when Theodore had not wanted to come back to Hogwarts. Hogwarts, for most Slytherins, was something to be endured, struggled through, and survived. Not something that was overly _enjoyed_.

It was hard, being hated by most of the school when the majority of them were guilty of no crime except that of being cunning, clever, ambitious, and born to pure-blood families. Theodore slumped on his bed and leaned back to stare up at the dark green canopy. 

He didn't like that, this year, he was glad to be back. Not when this year was the first year that he felt he'd really done anything that deserved the hatred of his classmates. _But then,_ he thought, _I am hardly the only one who has. This was a summer to remember for all the wrong reasons._

Still, privately, he resented this deviation from the usual first night back routine. It would have been a comfort, given everything else.

Blaise set himself more decorously down on the next bed over. At eleven and aware that the other boys in their grade were far more open with their supposed allegiances (for eleven year olds, Theodore had realized, mostly parroted what their parents believed and he'd learnt this summer that when it was rhetoric, it was far different than reality) they had decided to form an alliance of neutrality. It had served them well for the last five years.

He had no doubt it would serve them well for the next two.

Blaise leaned back against his headboard and watched the rest of the room. Malfoy had done the same as Theodore and just collapsed on his bed in a parody of relaxation. Crabbe and Goyle were much the same as ever--harder to read, harder to guess--though Goyle was frowning a little. But that, Theodore thought, could be from anything. Perhaps he left his favourite pair of socks at home.

"Harsh summer?" Blaise murmured when it seemed like the others weren't paying them any mind. 

"The hardest," Theodore replied just as quietly. "I'll tell you later--library tonight?"

Blaise nodded. "I want to check out a few books in any case. Mother mentioned a few spells that 'might prove to be useful in this unsuitable climate'."

Theodore smiled reluctantly at Blaise's careful imitation of his mother. "That could be anything from the weather to the war," he observed. "Hopefully it's the weather. Even with warming charms, it gets drattedly cold here about."

"Don't I know it," Blaise said. "I spend most of the year freezing and then she deplores the state of my jumpers come winter break and again at Easter. She doesn't understand but then, she went to Beauxbatons and they've far more care for personal comfort there."

"Helps that their castle isn't this old drafty thing. Hogwarts has stood for a thousand years and more and it shows." Theodore was of the opinion that it had been a drafty thing even back when the Founders had been around. "Probably Gryffindor's fault," he opined, "thinking that adversity would build character instead of just misery."

"Some would say that counts as character."

Theodore snorted and sat up, running one hand through his hair. "I disagree."

"So do I." Blaise's grin was sharp-edged. "But then, neither of us are Gryffindors."

Theodore found himself smiling slightly and was glad for it. "Come on," he said, pulling himself up off the bed. "Let's get unpacked before room inspection and then we'll head to the library." 

"Draco," Blaise called to the prone boy. "Unless you want to fail inspection too, you'd best be moving. It'd look bad for our Prefect to cost us detention on the first night back."

Malfoy muttered something under his breath that didn't sound complimentary and then began the slow process of getting up and putting his things away. Theodore turned his gaze to his own trunk and sighed. He hated packing. And unpacking. It was much easier at home when he could just order a house elf to do it. Still, he didn't want to earn himself (and, he supposed, the rest of the boys) detention for not being ready.

The Slytherin dorms were long, rectangular rooms. Each four-poster bed had a cabinet beside it that was meant for their clothes and a few shelves and a desk meant for their books. Professor Snape made it clear to all incoming Slytherins that they were to be properly unpacked before attending to the rest of the evening. To enforce this, the Professor had determined that it was most effective if everyone had to suffer for the failure of one person to comply. _The power of peer pressure_ , Theodore thought wryly as he magicked his robes into place. _Harnessed for evil, for a certain degree of evil._

It was clever, though, he had to concede that. The daily inspections kept the dorms from ever looking like a pigsty which was something Theodore appreciated. He just wished that they could skip a few steps. _I could live out of my trunk and do so neatly. I wonder how many could say the same?_

He cast a glance at the other boys in his dorm, carefully hiding his dubiousness behind a blank mask. Anyone who looked at him would think he was merely taking a moment's pause from unpacking. _Malfoy_ , Theodore decided. _Not Blaise, he's too much of a clothes horse despite being stuck in uniform most of the time. Crabbe and Goyle aren't organized enough. But Malfoy could do it and so could I._

Two out of five, he thought, turning back to his trunk, would never be good enough for Professor Snape. Not that there weren't pluses to the cabinets and shelves, of course, because it was far easier to find the proper text when they were all lined up neatly, and there were protections on the cabinets and desks that stopped people from snooping about others' things. Theodore knew that Professor Snape held the master key, so to speak, to those enchantments and could, if he wanted, see anything they had hanging around. 

To Theodore's knowledge, however, Professor Snape never did that. If he had, then he'd done it so subtly that no one had noticed and while that was a minor cause for concern, it was more a cause for admiration. _Well done, Professor_ , he thought as he set the last of his school books on the shelves and moved onto his more recreational and auxiliary text books. 

With unhurried and non-furtive movements, Theodore slipped the book he'd stolen from his father's library onto his shelf and tapped it once, twice, thrice, with his index finger. The book quivered and then subsided, taking on the guise of a book on herb lore. Nothing overly exciting there, he thought, because he was the only one in this room who _liked_ Herbology. It was the perfect disguise as far as it went. While it left him uneasy to have it just sitting out there, where anyone could see it if they wanted to look, he knew the book could protect itself.

To anyone but him who picked it up, it really would be a book on herb lore.

That was the best protection he could give it. He certainly didn't know enough warding spells to out-smart their Head of House and even if he did, using them here would earn him a rapid place in detention for months because they were all Dark spells. _I suppose I should look up a few Light wards,_ Theodore mused. _If only because it would be simpler than having people harping on me for using blood all the time._

He shrugged and supposed that it wouldn't hurt. Blaise had a few things to look up. Now Theodore could rightly say that he had at least one thing he wanted to get some reading done on quite legitimately. And no one, not even Dumbledore's staunchest supports would be able to say he was doing something _wrong_ by studying up on wards.

_In fact,_ Theodore mused, _I have all the right classes on my schedule. I could even claim that I'm looking into a career as a ward specialist and they wouldn't be able to tell differently._

Not that he needed a career; most of the purebloods in their year level didn't, if they were in Slytherin. They were old-blood and old-money and that meant if they didn't want to, they didn't have to learn to do anything but run the family estate. _But I would rather do something else with my time,_ Theodore admitted. _If I am lucky, perhaps I will discover I enjoy wards enough to make my plausible lie a truth._

He settled an ancient picture of his parents on the shelf, added a few more knickknacks and declared himself done. Turning away from his shelf and cabinet, he tapped his wand sharply on the top of his trunk. His trunk, used to this routine now, shrank down to be pocket-sized. Theodore set his trunk beside the picture and collapsed on his bed again, which gave him an easy way to observe his dormmates. 

He was unsurprised to find that Malfoy was nearly done, just turning to shrink his trunk; Blaise was just now getting to his books, his cabinet doors standing slightly ajar, likely because he couldn't close them. Crabbe was rummaging through his trunk for something and scowling; Theodore wondered if he'd forgotten something at home. Goyle was... huh, Theodore arched his eyebrows. Goyle was shrinking his trunk and putting it away. 

_Well done,_ he thought. _You finally learnt organization_. 

"Almost done, Blaise?" he asked quietly. "You're going to run into the inspection time if you don't pick up the pace."

"Help me?" Blaise replied. "I've got everything but my books and you've seen all of them before."

Theodore sighed and picked himself up off his bed again and went to help shelve books. "The things I do for you," he muttered and shook his head. 

Blaise laughed softly. "You do it for yourself. Look--Malfoy's helping Crabbe."

Theodore glanced across the room. Helping wasn't quite the word he'd use, as Malfoy was lounging on his bed, propped up on one shoulder, and waving his wand casually to send Crabbe's books and things to their proper places. "Crabbe doesn't look too happy about that," he noted. "Wonder why? Notice Goyle doing nothing to help?"

"Interesting," Blaise said, both of them keeping their gaze on their own work and their voices low. "I wonder why. Could it have anything to do with your summers?"

Theodore thought about that as he shelved _Charms for the Charming_ and a few back-issues of _Transfiguration Today_. "Possibly," he allowed. "Though I didn't notice anything between them." He made a face. He'd been quite busy noticing other things and made a note to check in with Daphne about Astoria. No doubt he wouldn't be the only one but it was a duty of the older purebloods to look after their younger counterparts.

_And while there were likely others as young as she there, she was already one of ours._ Theodore considered that and thought it sounded right. Yes, he'd do that.

"Sounds fun," Blaise murmured dryly. "Being with them all summer."

"Not my idea." Theodore set the last magazine on the shelf. "Most definitely not my idea."

"All right then. We'll talk about it in a bit." 

Theodore double-checked the trunk, before Blaise shrunk it, to make sure they hadn't missed anything and then, for the third time that night, set himself back down on his bed. 

"Done," Malfoy declared imperiously, "all of us. In time for inspection."

Theodore smiled slightly. It was easier to take Malfoy when he was being a brat about things like inspection and heckling Crabbe and Goyle. He seemed a lot more harmless and, in seeming so, became easier to deal with. Not that he _was_ harmless, Theodore thought, studying his own hands. But then, of them, he was certain that only Blaise had not killed someone this summer.

Not something to be proud of, having done so, Theodore thought. _Lucky Blaise._ Even though it had been just a Muggle and therefore not a real person anyway... they'd felt pain and been scared and hadn't understood what was happening to them and why. Theodore could sympathize with that even while feeling that they were missing the most important part of being alive--the magic.

As the other boys settled down, Theodore forced himself to lower his hands and then, thinking better of it, flopped flat on his back and then stretched, slipping his hands around the back of his head to rest there. He couldn't give into the temptation to stare at them if he was using them for something else, right?

He closed his eyes and even when the inspection came--in the form of Professor Snape, on his early evening rounds--he didn't bother to open them. He was _tired_ and it had nothing to do with how much sleep he'd been getting. 

_Just the war,_ Theodore thought, as the Professor swept out of their dorm in a swirl of black robes. They'd passed. _Only difference is, I might have an out. Might._

And even that wasn't certain.

"Come on," Blaise said. "We've got three-quarters of an hour before we're due at the feast. Let's get to the library before the Ravenclaws get the best books first."


	5. Two Conversations

The small alcove they were tucked into was one of a series that anyone who used the library frequently and wished to study in private, tended to use. Theodore stared down at the books he'd picked up on warding and pretended like he didn't feel Blaise's gaze sharp on his face.

Another plus to the alcoves was that there were no portraits near them and so there was no one who could spy on their conversations and report them back to the Headmaster. They took the extra precaution of casting a spell that would alert them if anyone came too close.

Even with all of that, Theodore felt uneasy--though that was likely because he'd just finished the driest recital of his summer he could manage and it felt distinctly odd to be sitting, not doing anything, and just... waiting to see how the axe would fall.

There were several ways Theodore could interpret the current silence and none of them were particularly comforting. He carefully subdued the urge to fidget and flipped to the first page of the top book in his stack. He stared at the table of contents and didn't read a single word of it. Honesty made his skin crawl when it concerned things that were desperately illegal and that he was certain that he'd never wanted to do in the first place.

But when choices are taken away from us... we survive.

It might have well been one of Slytherin House's mottos. It was certainly one of the traits that placed people firmly in Slytherin, even when their personalities might be suited better for another House. Theodore looked up and met Blaise's eyes squarely. "Well?"

"Mother is going to pull me from school if she hears about this," Blaise said conversationally. "She is most definitely a Dark witch but she is no one's follower and the Dark Lord is far too casually cruel to his followers to ever hold her attention. And too dominant," he added. "Mother doesn't like dominant men very much. Too many of them have tried curtail her."

Theodore listened and didn't move his gaze away from Blaise. The other boy would eventually get around to his point.

"When Mother pulls me," Blaise said, "and she will, because I'm going to tell her of this, which I assume you knew," Theodore nodded and Blaise went on smoothly, "then I will be happy to go."

Theodore held his breath.

"I cannot off you the same way out," Blaise continued and leaned back in his chair, clearly brooding on the matter. "There's no way it would work, not with your father being what he is and your mother gone. If your mother was alive, then perhaps... Mother did like her, after all. She likes you too. She always tells me you're so polite."

"I'm certainly not going to mouth off to a Dark witch of her caliber," Theodore pointed out wryly. "I agree with your assessment. It was one I considered and discarded as a possibility almost as soon as I thought of it."

"Do you have other options?" Blaise asked. "If you need an ally… well, I am relatively safe, despite my mother's worrying about Hogwarts, while school is in session. If you could use a hand, I can hold off on telling her." Blaise considered that thoughtfully. "Until the winter hols, at the latest. She'll pry it out of me when I go home for that, though. You know, if you came home with me and then we both disappeared..."

Theodore smiled slightly. "I appreciate the offer," he said and meant it, "but that would put both of you in a great deal of danger. I bear no Mark but my father does and the Dark Lord does not take betrayal well." They were both silent for a long moment, thinking of the fates of traitors. Karkaroff's long, painful death at the hands of a child Inferius haunted Theodore. He didn't know what incident it was that did the same to Blaise, whose face had got tight and remote.

To tell the truth, he didn't want to know what it was that put that expression on Blaise's face.

"What will you do, then? Have you a plan?"

"The beginnings of one," Theodore confided. "However, it requires that I not be alone when I enact it," he hurried on as Blaise opened his mouth to speak, "and it must be someone I am willing to share a bond with." His raised eyebrow implied the sort of bond as the other boy grimaced.

"That's unfortunate." Blaise shook his head "Not Daphne? You get along well enough with her."

He was too tactful, Theodore thought, to remind him of the fact that his first few years at Hogwarts had been plagued by a desperate crush on her. "She's engaged," Theodore replied instead. "And, besides, I doubt she would leave Astoria to face the consequences and I wouldn't expect her to."

"Lovegood?" Blaise's face was a mask. "You did mention you've a meeting with her tomorrow."

Theodore winced. "To study," he stressed. "I thought about it," he confessed, lowering his voice further, "but I'm not sure either of us would be able to fulfill the other proponent of what I had in mind. My only goal would be to hide and hers could be anything--and worse, be liable to change as she thinks of something new, which would interact poorly with the spell."

"Hmmm."

They both fell silent as Madam Pince swept by, muttering about students being vile, nasty creatures who mistreated books. She gave them a dirty glance that they both stonily returned. It was only after she'd gone back the other way that they resumed their conversation.

"A bond," Blaise said thoughtfully, "and a goal." His eyes narrowed. "You've told me about that book before. Your father wouldn't let you read it."

"My father was otherwise occupied this summer," Theodore said flatly. "If he notices before I can use it, then I'm dead--or worse, will be rendered mindless. I'm aware of that but what else was I to do?" The words were so soft he was leaning forward to say them and Blaise was doing the same in order to hear them. "Either way, the only other option was to throw myself at Dumbledore's mercy and I cannot do that. Not after the grand finale."

Blaise sat back, a scowl marring his face. "No," he conceded, "you can't. Especially not when doing so would implicate everyone else that was involved this summer." He paused, then added in a hesitant sort of voice, "Even Astoria?"

Theodore nodded grimly. "I know Malfoy is looking for another way out but the book is the only way out that I could see for me. I'll be safe there. Not even my father can get in, once it's activated, and it's blood-bound to us--neither the Dark Lord nor Dumbledore should be able to break in forcibly."

"Good points."

"I try." Theodore's smile was as unamused as Blaise's matching one.

"What if you went in with the goal of finding a way out of your situation? Can the goal be a situational one?"

Theodore grimaced. "If it was that easy, I would not have made it back to school. I'd have talked another witch around to my way of thinking and been gone already, no matter who she was. No, there must be a 'solid' outcome. A goal like mine is too... chaotic." He snorted. "The book can do many things but it cannot control what is out in our world and there's too many variables for it to give me a single thing that would make my life better. If I went in with that as my goal, it might just hit me with Avada and be done with it. I wouldn't be the first Nott to die because of the book."

"Cheers," Blaise said dryly. "Did you notice that Potter wasn't around today?"

"I've heard that story," Theodore said. "The one about training him. You believe that? If we're lucky he'll win the war and then that'll be the end of it. People will hate us for being Sorted into the green and silver but we won't be being forced to follow the Dark Lord any longer." Even when some of us have already been forced to become murderers. Theodore shook his head, willing the ugly thought to leave him.

"Do you believe that? I'm not sure that I do--if so, wouldn't they have taken Granger and Weasley? They go with him everywhere; training only one of them seems sloppy, even if they can't keep up with Potter."

Theodore shrugged and, under Blaise's gaze, sighed. "The Dark Lord was unusually pleased about something to do with Potter," Theodore said reluctantly, then added, "at least, that's what the rumours say. If it's true then it bears out why the Dark Lord took such a decisive step this summer with the purebloods."

"Lovegood's friends with Potter," Blaise pointed out. "Perhaps Potter needs something--wouldn't that be a goal that Lovegood could focus on?"

He turned that over thoughtfully, carefully probing it for holes and finding fewer than he had before that angle had been spun on it. "I suppose she might," he admitted. "She might be interested just because of the opportunity. Which does not mean she would agree. Lovegood would ask the right questions and not all of the answers would be to her liking."

Theodore knew that for a fact.

"It doesn't really look to me that you've got all that many other options," Blaise murmured. "It's here that your tendency towards isolation has narrowed your options."

"My tendencies aren't in question here. All the same, perhaps I will bring it up with Lovegood tomorrow. She might say yes to exploring uncharted territory and we get along well enough despite her tendency towards the overly fantastical."

"Says the one with the book that leads to the ultimate in uncharted territory," Blaise pointed out. "I don't think you're much of one to talk about that. I'd think about it, if I were you. Getting along well enough is the basis of a great many sort of bonds. At least you get a choice in that much. It could be worse."

"I've found," Theodore said, as they stood and gathered there things in deference of the delayed welcoming feast beginning shortly, "that most things can be worse. That doesn't mean what we're stuck with is good."

"True enough, true enough."

What tomorrow would bring, however, Theodore had no idea.

 

The first night back had Hogwarts had been awkward and strange and uncomfortable without Harry around. Having the Sorting and the feast delayed (which had been, according to Professor McGonagall, a security measure to ascertain that all of the first years were as they seemed) had only added to that.

In contrast, Hermione found the routine of the first day back to school almost reassuring in how everything seemed the same, even though everything was different and lopsided. Ron looked lost while he took his schedule and headed to class. Hermione felt much the same way, though she was grateful that some of her classes, at least, had never had Harry in them.

It was easier to make believe that everything was as usual when she was in a class that she'd never seen Harry in. Nothing had changed in those classes and, as she slid into a seat in Arithmancy and proceeded to lose herself in numbers, Hermione considered that a blessing.

But the way Ron looked, after class, twisted her heart. It wasn't right. Harry was supposed to be there, both of them grumbling good-naturedly about classes and the amount of homework they'd been given on the first day. Not Ron alone, who grumbled only half-heartedly, stuffed his work into his bag, and pulled out a book about sleep spells.

She thought about nagging him to do his homework but the moment she opened her mouth, he just looked at her and she said nothing.

When Ginny came a settled down beside them an hour later, and did the same thing, Hermione kept her mouth shut and still said nothing as she worked her way through her essays.

In fact it wasn't until she was finished with her essays, her unimportant work, a while later that Hermione said anything at all. "I finished my books last night," she said quietly. "I'm going to the library. Do either of you want to come or did you want me to pick up anything for you?"

"I'm good," Ron said, with a lopsided smile that tugged on her heartstrings but didn't touch his eyes. "I've still got this one and two others." He shrugged and looked a little sheepish, like there was something wrong with being slower at reading than she was. She didn't know how to reassure him without setting off his temper and so she said nothing, just offered him a faint smile.

Then she looked at Ginny. "Ginny?"

Ginny looked at her with a bemused expression for a moment, then checked her watch and pursed her lips thoughtfully. "I'll come," Ginny said, stuffing her book into her bag and kicking it over to Ron. "Watch that, will you? I don't want to leave it up in my dorm. They'd all twitter on about my learning sleep spells and how I'm going Dark." She stood up, pushing her hair back. "They wouldn't understand and I can't explain it in any way that would keep all the promises I'm supposed to be keeping."

Hermione grimaced. She felt the same way. In her case, though, it was simpler because Lavender and Parvati were used to her studying things that were odd or decidedly different from the syllabus. "We won't have to keep quiet forever," she said and added to Ron, "We'll be back soon."

He waved them off with one freckled hand and they hurried over to the portrait hole to step out into the corridors.

"Part of me," Ginny admitted, "just wanted a walk. My head gets so stuffy if all I do is study and read and I've been doing that too much lately." She sounded disgruntled but Hermione had learnt enough to know that this was just the way that Ginny dealt with stress and that the other girl had no intentions of not continuing to search for a cure.

A month ago, Hermione would have scolded her. Now she let it slide.

"I don't know how you do it, Hermione. Constantly. All the time."

"Don't be so hard on yourself," Hermione replied as they walked at a brisk pace. They kept their voices low. "I've had more practice than you and Ron put together so it shouldn't be surprising that I'm better at this than you two are."

"Gee," Ginny said with heavy sarcasm, "thanks."

"You're welcome."

Both girls looked at each other and then smiled. It wasn't the same as laughing out loud, which might have been done at any other time, over any other subject, but it was something comforting nonetheless.

"I've been thinking," Ginny said stubbornly, as they went down a flight of stairs. "I think we really ought to tell Luna."

Hermione closed her eyes briefly, asking for patience, and then opened them to see Ginny staring at her with a hard look. "Ginny," she said, "you know why we haven't--"

"I know we've searched all summer and not even the Professors have learnt much more than we knew after Professor Dumbledore's examination," Ginny said defiantly, interrupting her without the slightest hint of shame. "That's not good enough. Now that we're back at school, Mum's going to kill Ron and I if we fail and I don't care because how can I study if I know that he's dying while I do so? Luna knows all sorts of strange or odd things; maybe she'll be able to point us in a new direction."

"Most of what she knows is nonsense," Hermione said sharply, harshly, knowing she was being unfair and saying it anyway. "Myths and fairy tales and creatures that no one else can see!"

"Maybe that's what we need!" Ginny erupted. "We're not going to find it in The Standard Book of Spells, Grade 6, Hermione! Professor Snape hasn't found anything he's willing to share with us from his library! We've gone through almost any book in this library and Professor Dumbledore's personal collection--those that we're allowed to touch anyway--and found nothing! He's asleep! He's dying inch by inch and no one can wake him because he let it happen and is dreaming sweet dreams. The only thing that Professor Snape found out that Professor Dumbledore didn't is that the dreams involve Snuffles! Who is dead. All of that sounds like a myth to me and if it is one, then Luna's the best one to help us!"

"We can't!" Hermione snapped. "We were told not to!"

"And sine when are you and Ron and Harry are so great at following the rules!" Ginny cried, tears of frustration in her eyes as her face went red with emotion. "Why is this the exception? I don't see why we shouldn't tell Luna when she could help. It's like you want Harry to die!"

Hermione gasped, flinching back as if struck, and even Ginny seemed surprised at her daring. It didn't stop her from going on though.

"I mean it," Ginny insisted, a bit of a wobble in her voice even as it gained volume. "Why are the rules so important in this case? Luna's a friend. A good one! She came with us to the Ministry! She was hurt in helping us! Why should we be shutting out her and Neville, who did the same? That's not right! Why aren't you breaking every rule there is to keep Harry alive?"

"Shut up," Hermione said, her voice shaking. "Or I'll hex you."

Ginny laughed, high and wild, the opposite of amused. "You couldn't," she taunted, "you can't. I'm faster than you are. And Luna knows more about this than you do!"

"I keep hearing my name," Luna Lovegood's dreamy voice interrupted Hermione's deliberations of which hex to use. "Amongst other, more disturbing, things. Hello Ginny. Hello Hermione. I do not think all the shouting here is keeping a secret very well. Though perhaps that is the point?"

Hermione gave Ginny a betrayed glance. "You already told her," she accused.

Ginny tossed her hair over one shoulder, hands set defiantly on her hips. "I didn't," she insisted, her face still flushed, "I told her to meet me around here at a certain time, that's all." She turned to Luna. "Did you hear that we need your help, Luna?"

"I did," she said, "though only one of you seems certain of that."

"Ignore her," Ginny said firmly. "We do. She's just had an attack of keeping to the rules for utterly pointless reasons."

Hermione sucked in her breath. "Ginny…"

"That's not very nice," Luna observed mildly. "Not when the last time the rules were broken some of us nearly died. Wasn't Hermione the worst off?"

Ginny's look of dawning horror went a long way towards placating Hermione's temper. "I didn't--I was--" Ginny stammered, dismayed.

"Don't." Hermione didn't want to talk about it. "And the damage is done now. Luna, did you hear what we wanted to ask you about?"

"Sleep," Luna said, staring at nothing in particular. "There are many ways to cause sleep. I will think about it. No standard spells." Only the faint ghost of a smile on her lips gave away the fact that she was teasing a little. "Has anyone said how long the sleeper has until the endless sleep claims him?"

"No specific date," Hermione said. "Just 'a while'. We've got a few months at least."

Luna mulled over that. "It would possibly be easier to look for a cure without knowing the exact spell."

"We thought about that," Ginny admitted. "It was shot down by Professor Snape. He says it would be dangerous to attempt due to the possibility of in-built curses or defenses in the spell." Ginny paused. "Unless you've got an idea for that, too?"

"I will think about it," Luna repeated. "I'm meeting Theodore Nott in the library," she added. "Would you like to walk with me?"

Hermione gave Ginny a dark look that the other girl just shrugged off, and said, "We'd love to, Luna. And if you can help, thank you."

"Do not thank me when I've done nothing yet," Luna said quietly.


	6. First Offer

Theodore sat himself down in a chair in the library with the fatalistic air of a man who knew he'd be facing an on-coming disaster. It wasn't that the day had gone particularly badly, though it had been marred by the undercurrents of tension that permeated Slytherin.

No, what was inspiring the feeling of impending doom rushing towards him was the fact that while Theodore was reasonably certain that his plan was solid, that his determined line of questioning would be reasonable, and that hiding in the book really _was_ the best solution for him--or, failing that, it would _give_ him a better one--he was not at all certain that Luna would agree. _She's hard to read,_ he thought, getting out his Arithmancy to work on while he kept one eye on the door. I don't know what she'll say to my offer and that upsets me.

It unsettled him more than he really cared to admit to himself. It was _uncomfortable_ being in this state of uncertainty which was only heightened by Malfoy's tight face and the way it seemed like, more than ever, everyone was keeping secrets that they didn't dare talk about. 

_Which we are._

None of that made for comfortable thinking. Or for efficient studying but Theodore buckled down and slowly lost himself in the depths of endlessly complicated equations and his quill moving across parchment. Soothing, really, books. They had never turned around and bit at him the way most things did eventually. 

When Luna entered the library, he froze, a little unsteadily as she did so with both Granger and the youngest Weasley. _I cannot ask if they're here,_ he thought determinedly, ignoring the way his hand trembled slightly. Granger looked like she was irritated but trying to hide it--badly. Weasley looked pleased with herself and Luna was smiling vaguely, which could mean a lot of things, too many to name. _But that is not the end of the world. It's not._ The fear in his stomach was cramped and wailing about how it most certainly was. He never wanted to be put into a position to do what he'd done this summer ever again. Ever.

_But I doubt she would bring them to study with me,_ cool logic reared it's head as Luna's smile widened and she broke away from Granger and Weasley, and came towards him. _Just friends walking down together. God, Theodore, you're pathetic._

"You're upset," Luna said as she sat down beside him rather than across from him. 

"Hello to you too," Theodore said, reaching for dryness to cover his reactions. "And it's nothing."

She gave him a look like she doubted that was the case but let it drop. That was the nice thing about Luna, he felt. She knew when to leave things well enough alone even if it might be smarter to talk about them. _But I don't want to talk about how I'm an idiot for leaping to conclusions,_ Theodore thought ruefully. He _liked_ Luna. Not as more than a friend but she had her own appeal.

"How was your day?" he asked quietly, as she got out her books. "Everything all right with you and Granger? She didn't look best pleased."

Luna tapped her quill--a violently green Fwooper monstrosity--against her cheek. "Hermione wound up in a situation that had only one way out," she said, "and it was not the way she wanted. It was a minor thing but she's bad at letting things go. I am fine." 

But that wasn't quite right either, Theodore thought, because closer now, Luna looked a little too pale and her lips were thin, like she was holding back some upset by will alone. He thought about prying but... but she'd done him the courtesy of not prying. 

He could do the same for her and if they wanted to talk about it, perhaps it would happen later, once they'd both had a chance to lose themselves in studying. "All right," he said determinedly, "then we'll get started. Have you covered--"

Both bent their heads over the Arithmancy texts, one blonde, one brown, and soon soft murmurs about numbers and the magic inherent in them occupied the both of them thoroughly. 

Hours passed that way, as they both worked through their respective essays while discussing finer points of various concepts with each other. While Luna was a year behind him in class, she had a more intuitive mind that made up for her lack of knowledge compared to him. And he made sure to pay attention to her leaps even when they didn't seem on the surface of things to make all that much sense to him.

As night fell more thoroughly about him and Granger and Weasley and others began leaving the library, with either sighs of relief at a chore being over with for the day or with armfuls of books so that they could continue working long into the night, Theodore felt his jitters come back with a vengeance. When he glanced at Luna he was surprised to see her frowning pensively in the direction of the doorway.

"Father is thinking of doing an article on sleep spells," Luna told him, out of the blue, which was always her way. "Have you heard of any that are unusual? I don't know very many."

"They're not exactly standard curriculum," Theodore pointed out, finishing an equation and squinting at it thoughtfully before setting his quill down and stretching. "What brought on sleep spells?"

It wasn't what he wanted to bring up but now that the time was looming closer, he found he wasn't in that much of a rush. _Nerves. I hate having them._

"A friend," Luna said quietly, tracing her fingers in circles on the tabletop. "I misspoke, I suppose."

Theodore fell silent at that. He knew good and well that there were few enough people that Luna considered as friends. She'd been thrilled last year to be included in so many things--it was like having friends all the time, instead of just when they needed her--and he was strangely loathe to point out that this year, unless things were fixed by Potter it was likely that she'd be facing another mostly lonely year.

But...

"What sort of sleep spell are they under?" Theodore asked, his voice as quiet as hers. It was a conclusion that involved several leaps of logic and the combination of a few things he'd pieced together over the summer he didn't want to think about. Wasn't the whole reason he wanted to ask Luna about the book because he'd known something was wrong with Potter?

This _had_ to be about Potter.

Luna tilted her head, as if listening to things he couldn't, wouldn't ever, be able to hear.

Theodore let the silence wash over them as he turned back to his essay, checking a few references to make sure they were noted down correctly, while Luna thought about it.

_We are both dancing around our situations._ It was a peculiarly comforting thought, in a twisted way, that both of them were walking the same tightrope, just in the opposite directions. _Or perhaps we'll meet in the middle?_

Perhaps.

It was something to think about anyway. 

"I don't know," she said finally, her pale eyes studying him like he was a particularly difficult puzzle to figure out. "They're asleep and the sleep will kill them but they can't be woken and they're dreaming of the dead."

Theodore frowned at her. "That's not very useful." 

She just looked at him. Her usual serenity, or the seeming of it, at least, was gone and left behind was a girl dealing with an unpleasant shock. 

_She hasn't had time to figure this out,_ Theodore realized with a sickened twist of his stomach. _That must have been what Weasley and Granger were with her for. She_ just _found out._

"Luna," he said, because friendship drove him to point this out, even when for the Dark Lord's agenda, it was the wrong course of action, "are you sure you should be talking about this with me?"

He wasn't for the Dark Lord. He wasn't for Potter or Dumbledore either. But Luna didn't know that, couldn't know that he was in this mostly for himself and was looking, searching, for a way out.

"Hermione wouldn't like it," Luna admitted slowly. "But you have been kind when others have not been. Ginny would understand that. You have never hurt them. Just kept your silence."

Theodore stared at her. "What else was I supposed to do?" he asked, stung by the reproachful look in her eyes. "Malfoy sleeps in my dorm. Crabbe is a vicious brute and Professor Snape expects us to deal with our own problems in a way that befits Slytherins. Prudence dictated my actions."

"Will they dictate them in the future too?" 

"I don't know," he said. "The future isn't something I can See."

She smiled slightly at that, seeming a little sad. "Most of us can't," Luna agreed. "But despite that, I am talking to you about this. Maybe I am making a mistake."

Unspoken but not unheard was the 'and maybe I'm not' bit of that, Theodore thought, toying with his quill. "I'm assuming that all regular avenues have been tried?"

"If they are asking for my help," Luna pointed out gently, "then yes. Hermione was quite insistent that myth and nonsense would not help them and yet..."

"Here you are," he finished. "I hope you told her that myth and nonsense have their uses."

She just shrugged. "Hermione will learn," Luna said. "She's very smart, did you know that?"

"Everyone knows that," he said and shut his mouth before he could say something uncomplimentary about Granger. 

If pressed, despite the situation and the strange hilarity he felt bubbling up against his chest because she was asking about the same thing he'd been struggling to ask her about, he was very pleased that she'd asked him.

_Maybe she thinks we are friends,_ he thought, _if a slightly different than normal sort._ But wasn't that par for the course with Luna?

"What about curing the symptoms instead?" he asked curiously. 

"The possibility of implanted traps was raised," Luna said and he noted that she didn't say by whom. 

He didn't need to know the inner workings of the so-called Light side and he understood why she would be cautious with that besides. Better to be safe than sorry in this case, as was the same in so many other cases. 

"I see." Theodore hesitated. "There's a book I have," he said, "that specializes in fixing the impossible."

She glanced at him dubiously. "There's very little that's impossible."

That was so Luna that he had to smile slightly. The movement twisted his lips. "True enough," he conceded, "but how about the wildly implausible and incredibly difficult?"

She nodded her head solemnly. "Far more accurate."

"Have you ever heard of the Chaos Butterflies?" Theodore curled his fingers over his wand, as a way to make himself feel better. It didn't help much. He left his hand on it however.

"They disappeared," Luna said slowly, tilting her head thoughtfully, "because people were scared of them. They _were_ change and not everyone is comfortable with constant change. Even the Muggles know about them, though they don't realize it's the butterflies themselves that caused it." She paused, thinking. "Chaos Theory they call it, or the Butterfly Effect. But they don't know that the butterfly _is_ the chaos."

That was the publicly available myth, buried in the depths of books that very few people these days read. 

"They didn't disappear," he said quietly. "They're still around. They're just... bound."

Luna's pale eyes met his. "In a book owned by your family," she said, her voice hushed. "Really?"

"The Notts weren't originally from around here," he told her. "Our line originated in Australia."

"The last known location of the Chaos Butterflies." She frowned. "And if I looked, would your family have left around the time the butterflies disappeared?"

"The times would happen to match up almost exactly."

He only told her because it wasn't some great secret. Anyone who bothered to look up the dates of both would be able to see that. The only difference was, not many people would know that the two of them were connected.

"Why?"

"Why did my family trap them?" Theodore looked intrigued as he thought about it. "For power, I suppose. They've saved our family more than once through the years, but I can't speak for people who've been dead more than a thousand years and say what their motivations were. None of them left diaries to tell their thought processes. I can only guess."

"Your guess is power?" Luna's voice was soft.

"The Notts have always been interested in power that isn't in the spotlight," he said, just as softly. "Even I am. That much is in my blood right through to the bones."

"But you don't serve _Him_."

Theodore met her eyes steadily. "I serve no one," he said flatly. "Only myself."

"It must be a sad thing," she replied, "to have no one to rely on."

"Maybe." He wasn't sure about that, though, and that showed in his voice. "There's good sides to everything."

"There generally are." Luna sighed a little.

"The book could help Potter," he said and she flinched. "It was obvious," Theodore told her, not ungently, "but I had an unfair advantage. Let us say that my summer was a most... interesting one."

She adsorbed that, looking concerned, he thought, for him. It was a peculiar thing. "Are you willing to help him?" Luna asked. "Your father will not. This would be deciding your alliance in a way that cannot be taken back."

"My father is a fool who bows to pain," Theodore said. "I don't plan to side with Dumbledore either. My offer of help is a two-way street. I need help, and you need it."

She was quiet for a long, long set of moments where Theodore found it hard to breathe. He knew what she was doing. It was what he'd be doing, had their positions been reversed. She was reviewing what she knew of the situation, of Potter, of him, and weighing the risks against the potential gain. 

Then she looked at him. "What sort of help do you need?"

He told her.

Luna stared at the tabletop for what felt like eons after he was done laying out his plan, such as it was. Her brow was furrowed as she went over the details. Theodore waited as patiently as he could. He wouldn't push her. Couldn't push her.

This had to be chosen of her own free will. The book had always been very firm on that. Only free will would get someone into the book. They could not be forced into it. 

A deal was acceptable because there was something for both parties to gain from it. 

He knew all of that and still found it hard to swallow as he waited. True night had fallen, he thought, staring out the windows. Madam Pince would be along soon to shoo them out, though she'd be gentler with them than most would be--after all, they were quiet and treated the books with respect. She liked them as much as she liked any student, which wasn't all that much, truth to tell.

"I cannot," Luna said finally. "Not with a bond being a requirement."

"Is there someone else?"

"Maybe," she said, "and maybe not. But I am not interested in this."

It was a rejection but it was one that he couldn't blame her for even as he knew it would leave him scrambling for another option. He didn't have that many people he was even _willing_ to ask to do something like this--

"If I can have your permission," Luna said, "I can see if someone else would be willing to do this."

He clenched his hands in his robes and hoped he didn't look as panicked as he felt. "Who?" Theodore asked. "I know Weasley might do it," they both knew which Weasley he referred to, "but she's been in love with Potter since before she came to Hogwarts by all accounts." His eyes narrowed. "Luna..."

"You will run away," she said quietly. "That is what you want. I do not think that the bond matters that much to you, though perhaps it should."

He wondered if that was why she'd turned his offer down. Which was pretty... reasonable, he reluctantly conceded. She was right. He didn't think of her that way, though she was a friend. 

"I've had to think of other things," Theodore said and then admitted, "and my first choice is engaged to another."

Luna nodded. "That makes more sense."

He supposed it did. "Who, Luna? Who would you ask?"

"You already know who." She began packing her bags and closing books as Madam Pince came closer to them. "Will you be able to live with that? Do I have your permission to ask?"

He packed his own bags, stacking the books he wanted to take with him in a neat pile, as he thought hard about that. Granger.

Could he live with that?

Theodore wasn't sure. He also didn't feel like he had that many options either. Blaise was already composing his letter to his mother. Daphne and Astoria were murmuring their own plans. Malfoy was looking worse and worse as he struggled to find a way out of the hole he'd spent five years digging himself into. Even Parkinson was looking out-of-sorts.

He knew the others who'd spent the summer with them had to be thinking their own way through things. They had to move fast. Sooner or later one of them, if likely not a Slytherin, was going to go to Dumbledore and all of them doubted they'd find much protection there. _When has Dumbledore ever given us a fair call?_

"I can live with it," he said, swinging his bag over his shoulder. "But Luna, make sure she knows what she's getting into. There's no take backs, or I've changed my mind, when it comes to the book. It deals with the impossible and makes those absolute."

Luna smiled slightly. "I know. That's how most truly impossible things work."

* * *

Blaise was waiting for him, when Theodore wandered into the dorm hours later. It was long past curfew but that hardly stopped anyone who was really _serious_ about sneaking around and Theodore had wanted time alone to think. He'd wondered if Luna had told Granger already. If Granger had already said no.

But would she say no when it was Potter's life on the line?

Theodore didn't know and that fact haunted him as he settled into a high-backed ominous looking chair, like all the other chairs in the Slytherin common room, and stared into the fire. Blaise let him get away with this for a matter of minutes, no more, before a Stinging Hex got his hand. Theodore winced and shook the pain away. "You could have just asked."

"You were too busy playing the brooding hero," Blaise said placidly. "And I'm sure you've given me reason to hex you in the past that I've overlooked for some reason."

"Touché." Theodore shook his head. "She said no."

Blaise's face tightened. "And?"

"She's seeing if Granger will." The idea didn't sound any less bizarre with repetition. 

" _Granger_?" Blaise echoed, sounding appalled. "But she's--"

"A Mudblood," Theodore said flatly. "I know." He turned away from the fire to look at Blaise. "But it's my best chance. If it's for Potter--she might do it. Lovegood said she'd explain the bond aspect, so Granger knows what she's getting into."

Blaise snorted. "Like that will help," he predicted. "If she says yes, it'll be because there's no other choice. Both of you are stuck and I don't know that it'll matter about the bond to Granger."

Theodore thought about Luna scolding him, in her mild way, for not considering the bond to be a particularly important aspect. He shrugged, slumping further down into the seat and brushing his hair away from his eyes. "The bond isn't that important to me either. If it's not to Granger, if she even agrees to this, then we'll at least be in agreement over that." He tilted his head and considered that. "Probably for the best," he added. "Because the more we can agree on, the more likely the book is to help us."

Blaise shifted. "It's killed people before."

"People are dying every day here. This is a different risk," Theodore said. "More, it's one I'm choosing to take. I didn't decide to follow a madman who alienates his own followers by traumatizing their children. I spotted several others today, as young as Astoria, who have the same brittle look she does."

"I saw that too." Blaise's expression was impossible to read by the weak light of the fire. There was little point in whistling on a lamp. No subtlety and playing in shadows was something all of them had to learn. "Not all of them in Slytherin."

"We predicted that," Theodore reminded. "We knew, those of us stuck there. We just never saw them."

"Probably for everyone's protection? That way if there's one traitor, only a small group will be taken in for questioning."

"Probably." It made sense. Theodore hated that it did. It was easier to loathe an enemy when they made no sense whatsoever. 

The fire popped, startling them both and Blaise swore softly as he looked at his watch. "We need to get to bed," he said, "or we're going to be caught by Professor Snape."

Theodore stood. "Merlin forbid that happen."

"Just one more question," Blaise said as they headed towards their dormitory. "Did you explain that once you're in you have no intentions of leaving?"

Theodore gave him a sharp glance and smiled grimly. "Of course not," he said coolly. "What do you take me for? I'm not a fool. I'm a _Slytherin_."


	7. Think It Over

* * *

Hermione tapped her quill against her cheek, made a notation on her parchment, and went back to her book. She found herself not adsorbing a single word of it, however, and wound up glancing at Ron and Ginny. Ron was stifling yawns with his hand as he focused on his textbook with narrowed eyes. Ginny, for the moment, seemed to have given up and was staring broodingly into the fire.

_Is she wondering if she did the right thing?_ Hermione thought and then dismissed it. There was no way she was going to open that can of worms right now, not when they hadn't told Ron, and now that Luna knew, Hermione felt that Ginny even had a point about Neville and felt guilty for it. Neville was their friend. They should trust them. But Dumbledore had told them to not and she frowned as she tried, really tried, to figure out why. Some of it had to be pure logistics. There was no way that a secret could be kept in Hogwarts for long--except that that didn't match up with their own experiences. They'd kept secrets and kept them well before.

She glanced at her watch and resisted the urge to sigh. She and Ron had patrol soon. Hermione could feel herself getting tired just thinking about it. She _would_ be stuck with Malfoy, though she was also stuck with Hannah Abbott and Anthony Goldstein, which hopefully would keep the evening from being unbearable. _But still,_ she thought distastefully, _Malfoy_.

_Though Ron didn't fuss as much as I thought he would at being put with Parkinson_. Hermione contemplated that and shrugged a little. They were all a little out of sorts these days. Perhaps Ron was just growing up, she though optimistically, and that was why he hadn't said anything. It couldn't be changed, so there was no reason to cause a scene.

She nudged both him and Ginny with her feet. They looked at her curiously as she leaned forward. "Let's go visit Harry," Hermione said quietly. "It's not yet curfew and I don't think Madam Pomfrey will scold us too much if that's the case anyway. Patrol isn't for another hour, so we've the time if we leave now." 

Ginny stuffed her books in her bag as Ron and she did the same. The walk down to the infirmary was mostly silent as they took the long way to avoid rousing immediate suspicion as to where they were going. All three of them, heading for the infirmary? It was practically a siren call for where Harry might be and so they all took pains to prevent people from noticing that. Maybe it was just paranoia… but maybe not.

If anyone saw them, Hermione thought, they would likely think we're on our way to visit Fang, since Hagrid isn't here. _Poor Fang. We should visit him soon._

The infirmary was quiet. There would be more people here later no doubt, first years with a case of homesickness that was literally making them sick, or students who caught something after being reintroduced to the rest of the student population, but for now, it was empty. All of those who had chronic conditions would have already been and gone as Madam Pomfrey logged their medications and sent them on their way.

They didn't stop in the outer room but made their way for the lesser known private rooms. These were password coded and warded and very few students knew about them in any case--they were used only rarely and never for run-of-the-mill coughs and sniffles. Hermione ruefully remembered more than a month stuck in a bed in the public ward of the infirmary where anyone could pull back the curtain and look at her cat face and ears, thanks to the botched Polyjuice Potion. 

_I would have appreciated one of these rooms,_ she thought as Ginny pressed her hand to the panel that would let them in and leaned forward to murmur the password.

A door slid seamlessly away from the wall. They entered it to find the cozy wood-panelled room that Harry was staying in. The bed was more comfortable than the average infirmary cot and there were a few more chairs in the room, like Madam Pomfrey had guessed that they would rarely be visiting Harry on their own. _She was right._

_Hi Harry,_ Hermione thought, taking in the way Harry still looked to be at peace. It was unsettling and calming at the same time. Even as he died, he didn't suffer. That was something.

"We told Luna," Ginny said to Ron. "Or, well, I tricked Hermione into arguing about telling her where Luna would hear me."

A myriad of expressions crossed Ron's face before he settled on a low snicker. "And you're alive?" he asked, with a glance at Ginny and then over to her. Hermione flushed. "That seems like a bit of a risk to me."

Ginny shrugged, leaning against Harry's bed and looking down at him with an expression of fierce tenderness. "I thought she'd be useful," Ginny said, "and that mattered more than obeying rules that I thought were ridiculous in the first place. Besides, it's easier to beg forgiveness than to ask permission."

"I still think Professor Dumbledore had his reasons for not wanting her to know," Hermione insisted. "Just because we don't know those reasons doesn't mean they might not be valid." 

"Maybe." Ginny didn't look away from Harry. "But I thought this way was better and it's too late now." Her brown eyes were determined as she looked at Ron and her. "Are you two going to ask Neville?"

Ron sank down into one of the chairs. "It's not that simple," he said. "Neville's a mate, sure, but can he know anything that will help us?"

"He is from an old pureblood family," Hermione said thoughtfully. "And that might give us another avenue for research. Perhaps his gran has some books that might aid us. Or a plant... Neville knows those better than almost anyone."

"And he's our friend," Ginny said, "which I think ought to count for more than you two are giving it."

Hermione and Ron exchanged uneasy glances. "Look, Ginny," Ron said. "It's not that simple."

"Then simplify it for me." Ginny planted her hands on her hips and gave the both of them a glare. Hermione just felt tired. Stressed out. It was tempting to give into the urge to be shrill and argue back, she could feel the sharp words on her tongue.

_I will not start a shouting match over Harry while he's sleeping,_ she told herself. _I will not_.

"We'll think about it," Hermione said before Ron could say something insulting to his sister. "I promise. Will you give us a few days, Ginny?"

Ginny looked at the both of them suspiciously but then turned back to Harry. "For him," she said, "I guess I can."

"Are you going to break up with Dean?" Ron asked with studied casualness. "I saw him trying to get your attention today."

Ginny didn't bother to look at either of them. "I guess I might," she said. "Which isn't fair. Dean's a nice guy."

"You're a nice girl too," Hermione said, taking a seat of her own and wishing things were less complicated. Once upon a time, having to deal with the troll and Fluffy and the Stone had been complicated to her. She wished for those days again, when things had seemed more like an adventure instead of just... sad. "Just maybe not for him. Not while you're still..."

"Hung up on Harry?" Ginny asked, her voice wry. "No, you're right. I should talk to him. I just... I didn't want a row today about Harry. Not about dating when Harry isn't... can't..."

Ron broke the silence before it could descend into the truly uncomfortable. Hermione was grateful for that even though the topic he chose wasn't one she really wanted to discuss either. It still stung that Ginny had used her. 

"What did Luna say?" he asked, toying with his sleeve. He was going to wear a hole in it if he didn't let up. Hermione didn't think he cared. "About Harry."

"Not that much," Ginny said thoughtfully. "Just that she'd think about it and that she wouldn't look for ordinary spells. But she was meeting Nott and couldn't stay to talk for long. We walked with her to the library."

"It's creepy, that," Ron muttered. "What's Nott doing hanging around her?"

"They've studied together now and then since her second year," Ginny said coolly. "He's a Slytherin and I won't trust him but he's never said a single word bad about Luna and he _does_ know quite a lot about unusual creatures. His mother was a Magizoologist, you know."

From Ron's silence, he _hadn't_ known that. For that matter, Hermione thought, neither had she.

"Was?" Hermione asked before realizing, with a sinking heart, what that had to mean. Nott had been one of the boys who'd been able to see the Thestrals last year. "You mean she's dead."

"Yeah." Ginny sat on the edge of Harry's bed, crossing her legs under her, and plopped her chin into her hands. "Luna said they had that in common too. Both of them were there when their mothers died."

Hermione winced.

"Why am I suddenly feeling sorry for a Slytherin?" Ron asked sounded baffled. "That's disgusting."

Ginny snickered. "Welcome to the real world?" she asked. "Where you'll have to realize that Slytherins are people too."

"I'm not so sure about that. Malfoy's not much more than a ferret," Ron retorted easily, and the siblings fell into a banter that was half in fun and half bickering and Hermione found herself frowning as she watched the rise and fall of Harry's chest.

There had to be _something_ they could do. She could feel panic clawing at her, incessant worry that there really wasn't anyway to cure Harry, to wake him up, that he'd really just sleep until he didn't even do _that_.

A sound at the door had all three of them jerking around to see who it was. The door cracked open and Luna stood there, looking pale but composed. But only if, Hermione realized, you didn't look too hard at her eyes. For her eyes were anything but that. Bright and almost feverish with emotion.

"Luna," Ginny said, sounding baffled, "how did you get in here? The door's warded and locked."

Luna shut the door behind her; it blended seamlessly into the wall. Her blonde hair almost seemed to glow by candle light. "I asked the wall if it was hiding my friends," Luna said. "The wall wasn't sure who my friends were so it let me in to check. I'll have to tell it that it was, and thank it for letting me in."

"That doesn't even make sense," Hermione objected as Ginny shrugged and Ron let out a sigh that was almost a laugh. "How can you talk to a wall?"

"How do you talk to me?" Luna asked curiously. "It's done much the same way, I suppose."

"Were you looking for us?" Ginny asked before Hermione could draw breath to explain that no, no that was definitely not remotely the same thing. Ron was no help, he was just looking amused.

"I was," Luna said as she stepped over to Harry's bed and stared down at him. "He's a good friend, you know." Her pale eyes studied each of them in turn. The look in them made Hermione want to squirm. "He should have been guarded better."

"I know," Ginny said sadly. "But we thought Professor Dumbledore was handling that. Who could blame us?"

"Harry might," Luna said thoughtfully. "But I don't think he will. He forgives those he loves easily and this has given him good dreams you said."

"Professor Dumbledore did his best," Hermione said. "He's one of the greatest Wizards of the world. It's not his fault that You-Know-Who got around it." It was easier, for some reason, to say Voldemort when Harry was awake. Hermione carried on, "No one could have predicted that this would happen."

Luna didn't respond to that as she stood beside Ginny and they both watched Harry for a long moment. "I might have a solution," Luna said, "though I can't take the credit for finding it."

Excitement exploded in the pit of her stomach. Hermione made a squeaky noise that she hastily stifled as Ron sat up straight and Ginny turned her head to stare at Luna hard. "What is it?" Hermione blurted.

"You've been crying," Ginny said, frowning at Luna. "What for if you've found a solution?"

"Because I'm not sure it's the right way to go about things," Luna said quietly. "And because there is plenty to go wrong and I am uncertain if my trust is true or misplaced."

"What _is_ the cure?" Hermione pressed. Ron was watching Luna with narrowed, speculative eyes but Hermione felt too jittery to just wait for her to get around to telling them. "If it can help Harry, then how can it go wrong?" 

"Lots of ways," Ginny said. "Isn't that way we haven't tried anything yet? Because there could be traps and downsides and we could kill him as we try to cure him and none of us want that to happen."

Hermione pressed her lips together for a second and then continued. "We haven't found anything that's worth taking the risk," she said, "and Harry is dying anyway. If what Luna has found is worth the risk then I think it should be done."

"I thought you'd say that," Luna said, her voice very clear despite the way her eyes were pressed shut, as in pain. "I told him you would."

Her stomach twisted. "Him?" she asked. "Who did you tell? Luna we told you that--"

"Hermione," Ron said. "I don't give a bloody damn about who she told if there's a solution to this. Neither do you, if you stop and think about it." 

Ginny wrapped a supportive arm around Luna. "Who did you tell?" she asked and there was a tightness in her eyes that suggested she wasn't entirely happy with their secret having been told either. It made Hermione feel better. "You were meeting..." Ginny trailed off, her eyes widening.

Hermione, too, felt like she'd been punched in the gut. "You told Nott?" Ron made a noise like he was choking. "You told _Nott_?" Hermione repeated.

Luna's eyes were steady. "Yes." She looked down at Harry. "And he had a solution, so I won't apologize for doing so."

"But he's _Dark_ ," Ron said, his voice still sounding strangled. "His Dad's a Death Eater."

"Theodore's not," Luna said, "though there are plenty of people who want him to be. Mostly, I think, he wants to be left alone. Yes, he's Dark." Her tone of voice made it clear that she did not think that was a major consideration. "It was a Dark spell that did this to Harry. Who better to ask than a Dark wizard?"

"How can you trust him?" Hermione asked, as Ron gaped at Luna with poorly disguised horror. "He's a Slytherin and he's laughed at the things Malfoy's done to us."

"I might too," Luna mused, "if I was a Slytherin and concerned with my own self-preservation when the people who I disagreed with slept in the beds next to me. Not all dorms are exactly safe."

Hermione remembered, then, what Harry had told them last year about how Luna's things had been taken and hidden by her dormmates and how Luna had been putting up notices to get her things back. How she was bullied. That was in Ravenclaw.

She tried to imagine how it would be like to be in Slytherin and not a Death Eater or Death Eater wannabe and shuddered. _You would have to lie constantly,_ she thought, _and do it so well that no one would know the lies_. "Do you know for sure that's what he was doing?" she asked. "You're a pureblood. His association with you is relatively safe."

"This is true," Luna admitted. "But I choose to trust a friend. I don't think this is wrong of me though he's a Slytherin. He is sincerely thinking over his options." She tilted her head. "I don't think he found his summer pleasant."

"The missing children," Hermione whispered. "He must have been one of them. That's..."

"I could not say for sure. Theodore did not say much and would, if asked, say even less." Luna's voice was even.

Hermione supposed that, in this case, she could not blame Nott for that. Who would want to admit to a summer like _that_ (her imagination provided her with a myriad of horrific things that could have happened) to an enemy? Who would believe it? _But she could,_ she thought, _believe that he hadn't_ enjoyed _it_. "What is his solution?" Hermione asked. "You said he had a potential one but that it wasn't an easy one."

"Something like that," Luna agreed, leaning against Ginny. "Have any of you ever heard of Chaos Butterflies?"

Hermione's eyes narrowed. Ginny and Ron exchanged glances slowly. "As bedtime stories," Ginny said, after a moment. "But I don't remember that much about them. Mum and Dad always said they were myths."

"They brought change?" Ron said, not sounding entirely certain of what he was saying. "And in the stories, people always used them to make things better for people."

"Bedtime stories," Hermione said flatly. "Your idea, and Nott's, involve a bedtime story?"

Luna studied her for a long moment. Long enough that Hermione fought the urge to squirm uncomfortably. 

"I heard a story in my first year," Luna said, "about a second-year student who questioned Professor Binns about a myth and when he objected to it because it wasn't solid, verifiable fact, had it pointed out to him that most myths have a basis in reality."

Hermione flushed deeply. "There was _proof_ something was happening then! What proof do we have of these butterflies?"

"What proof do you have that they don't exist?" Luna countered. "I believe Theodore. He has never given me reason not to."

"Luna," Ginny said gently, "what do the butterflies have to do with curing Harry?"

"Theodore has a book that contains the butterflies," Luna said dreamily. "His family has kept it for a long, long time and they've used it before to save their family from odds that would have defeated them. The butterflies are change, are fixing the impossible. Theodore thinks that a cure might be found in the book but it cannot be entered alone. It must be entered by one of Nott blood and one whom he is willing to bond with."

Ginny sucked in her breath sharply. Ron turned a funny shade of white. "That's serious magic," he said shakily. "I can think of maybe a few others that would have that as a requirement and they're not meant for games."

Hermione's mind raced. A bond? Clearly it was a deep one but what sort was it? Would it be worth that to have Harry back and healthy? 

"This isn't a game," Ginny said, her voice uneven. "Luna, who is he willing to take into the book with him?"

"His first choice is engaged to another man and would not have been able to help us help Harry in any case," Luna said, tilting her head. "He asked me. I turned him down. I am not interested in that sort of a bond right now, though I like him well enough."

"But _who_?"

"He understands that you are unavailable," Luna assured Ginny, which seemed to be the root of what had been bothering the red-haired witch as she let her breath out in an explosive sigh. "Which leaves..."

Hermione grimaced as they looked at her. "Me?" she said disbelievingly. "He agreed to me." A pause and then: "What _sort_ of bond are we talking about here? A soul-bond? A marriage-bond? A mental one? Why is it something that you, Luna, don't want and if it's about Ginny and her feelings and she's not acceptable then _is_ it a marriage bond?"

"Marriage is part of it," Luna replied, "but it's a love bond, which goes deeper. Some marriages are pretty shallow after all."

Hermione felt dizzy, like the world had sharply veered and twisted under her, like she was seconds away from flying without a broom. _Love?_ Ron looked like he was glad he was already sitting while Ginny's face had gone expressionless in a way that Hermione hadn't seen since second year.

"Of course Theodore also mentioned he does not particularly find the bond part important." Luna kept her eyes on Hermione; Hermione wished she'd look away. "He is much more favourably inclined to treat this as a business transaction."

"A business transaction," Hermione repeated blankly. For a love bond? That… involved marriage. She supposed it was a peculiar thing that the very idea of treating it as something to be traded was almost comforting. It wasn't a grand romance but he didn't want that. _And neither do I,_ she thought. _Though one day that might not be so bad._

But she'd thought, perhaps, with _Ron_... 

But Ron wasn't saying anything and hadn't erupted into an explosion of rage and Hermione knew the way he showed his jealousy. _What do you think?_ she thought at him but of course, he didn't answer her. He was frowning but it was the same frown he'd had while on the train, while listening to the new rules.

He was thinking and not reacting. Hermione felt unsettled all over again.

Was this the new world they were going to have to deal with? What sort of hand had she been offered? "I need to think about this," Hermione said, drawing her composure around her like a comforting cloak. "I'll give you my answer in a few days."

Ginny looked like she wanted to object but held her silence. Hermione was grateful for that; she suspected that she'd start crying or shouting if she had to point out that if Ginny wanted this done so badly that she could volunteer for this. This was marriage, after all. Love. How was she supposed to rush into that?

Even if it would cure Harry?

"Nott's all right with Hermione being Muggleborn?" Ron asked, his voice careful. 

Luna twirled a strand of long blonde hair around her wand carelessly. "He said he would be amendable to Granger."

"Why?" Hermione asked. "Don't tell me he likes _me_. You said his first choice--"

"--was engaged, yes. I don't think he has feelings for you," Luna said bluntly. "But he has offered and I believe his offer to be genuine, no matter his prejudices. After all, this is helping him as well."

"What is he getting out of this, Luna?" Ginny asked, staring at Harry intently. "If it's not the bond, and I doubt he's in it to just cure Harry, then what is it?"

Luna considered that. "Peace," she said finally. "I think he just wants to be left alone, more than anything else."

Hermione, right then, could sympathize.

"We've got to get going for patrol," she said, forcing herself to stand, to talk like she wasn't awhirl with thoughts and most of them unpleasant. She felt sick. Ron still wasn't angry at the thought of her marrying someone else. Hermione wanted to cry. "If we're late, the others will raise the alarm. When you two leave, make sure you're not caught by us."

One of Ginny's eyelids slipped down in a quick wink and Luna's faint smile became a little less faint. "I think we can manage that," Ginny said blandly. "Why would two innocent fifth years be out and about after hours?"

"Snogging," Ron said promptly, and then looked like he'd swallowed something vile. "Just--don't let me catch you snogging someone. I won't survive it."

Ginny rolled her eyes and bent her head to talk to Luna, who murmured back an answer too low for Hermione to hear. She looked at Ron. "Coming?"

Ron stared at the two younger girls for a moment before heaving a heavy sigh and standing. "Yeah," he said, sounding disgusted. "I can't believe I'm stuck spending hours with Parkinson though. How unlucky is that? Can't even hit her like I could Malfoy."

"You are a _Prefect_ ," Hermione snapped, thoroughly unpleased at his lack of reaction to the possibility that she might wind up bonding to Nott and displeased at the fact that she had hours of Malfoy's company to endure before she could properly stew about it.

"Still," Ron said thoughtfully, "wonder what was so bad that it made a Dark wizard like him want out."

"Knowing Slytherins," Hermione said, piqued, "he would tell us it's none of our business."

* * *


	8. Ask, Ask, Ask

* * *

Ron was silent as they walked down a few corridors, winding their way through the castle towards the meet-up point at the Great Hall. Then he said, "It probably isn't. Our business, I mean. He might answer a few questions about things like 'is it going to hurt the war effort?' or maybe even 'how do we know you're not going to stab us in the back?' but if he's seriously going to do this, help us help Harry, then Luna's right. He can be trusted that far. What he wants--doesn't really matter, does it? It's just peace. Who doesn't want that?"

Hermione appreciated the fact that he said 'help us help Harry' and not 'help _you_ help Harry' even though she was increasingly uncomfortable with Ron's utter lack of response to the fact that... that she might be doing this. A love bond. Didn't he care at all? 

"It could," she replied. "It just depends on what it was. If we believe Luna about him wanting peace, doesn't even that depend on what kind of peace it is that he wants?"

"If it helps Harry, isn't that the right sort of peace?" Ron argued back. "That's the important thing, isn't it? He's got literally no reason to want to help us and yet, he's made that offer." Ron ran his hands through his hair with a frustrated sigh. "I mean, alright, suppose he doesn't mean well. That he's secretly a Death Eater. It could be that it's a trick and now that Harry's out of commission they're looking for ways to take you out too."

"Me?" Hermione said, aghast. "I'm not anything worth that to them. I'm just a--"

"The embodiment of everything they want to deny?" Ron said dryly. "Hermione, you're Muggleborn and scathingly brilliant and unrepentant--and I'm not saying you _should_ be repentant--about all of it. _And_ you're one of Harry's best friends. No," he said, with heavy sarcasm, "I can't see any reason why they'd want to eliminate you."

"Then why should I even consider wanting to do this?" she demanded. "If it's possible that he's lying and it's a trick?"

"Because if it's not a trick, if it's not a lie, it could save Harry."

Hermione scowled at him. "So we'll make sure that Nott isn't lying," Hermione said determinedly. "If I go through with this."

Ron stopped abruptly. "If?"

"If," she repeated defiantly. "I'm not really looking for a bond like that either. I understand why Luna said no. And I...," Hermione faltered and couldn't get the rest of her sentence out and resorted to just shrugging helplessly. She'd liked Ron for _ages_. Now there was this and she didn't know how she felt about it at all and he was giving her very little information about how _he_ felt and it just was so wrong.

Where was the boy that had shouted at her for dating someone who'd noticed she was a girl before he had? It was funny--she hadn't thought she'd miss him, but she did.

"Harry could-- _will_ \--die if we don't do something." Ron stuffed his hands into the pockets of his robes and began walking again. Hermione followed him, still scowling. "And if Harry dies, we lose this war. This isn't about feelings, this is about strategy." He wore a peculiar half-smile. "I might be rubbish at one of those, Hermione, but I'm not at the other. I understand strategy. If I thought that Nott would be willing with a guy, I'd volunteer and I don't swing that way."

This time, it was Hermione who stopped cold. "You're saying that feelings don't matter in this case."

Ron's eyes had never seemed as brilliantly blue as they did now, when he turned to look at her with an expression of seriousness she rarely saw on his face. "I'm saying that even though our feelings are important--even Nott accepts that, which is why he's given Ginny an out and don't think I didn't notice and appreciate that--there's more important things than who we want to end up with. Saving Harry is one of those to me. Ending the war... what's one more sacrifice to do it?"

"It's a big deal to me!" Hermione objected, her voice rising. She fought to keep from getting shrill. Shouting wouldn't help. "Making that sort of decision, making those sorts of statements, it's not _you_ who'll be stuck in a loveless love bond with a bigot! It won't be your life that's sacrificed here!"

"I would make that decision if that's what it took," Ron said heavily. "But I can't. I don't _know_ what your answer should be, Hermione. I only know what _mine_ would be and I know that if Nott had asked for Ginny, that Ginny would do it for Harry. Not happily, don't get me wrong, but she would. Because that's what it would come down to us and as Luna said, it would be a business transaction. There's plenty of things married people can get up to so long as all involved are willing to ignore any infidelity."

"Can't a bond be dissolved?" Hermione asked, wishing that she'd thought to ever look this sort of thing up. But, no, it hadn't been something that had occurred to her and now, now she felt like she was being pushed into a love bond and she hated the very idea of it. 

"No." Ron shook his head. "That's why it's so serious. Once it's done, it's done forever. You can't get rid of it."

"I'm not yet seventeen," Hermione whispered. "I'm not even old enough for that."

Just a couple of weeks and she would be. Hermione couldn't imagine anyone feeling ready to get married so young, though she knew some people did and were happy.

"Neither is Nott," Ron pointed out. "He's got to be younger than you are, you're one of the oldest in our year. The magic won't care about age. It cares about intent. Don't get me wrong, Hermione. I...," his voice cracked. "I wish you didn't have to make this choice, but that's what this is. It's a choice. This sort of magic has to be done of your own free will. He can't force you. No one can. Even if we all agreed you should do it and then had you and Nott go through whatever ritual he needs done to access that book of his, if you didn't agree to it, the ritual would do absolutely nothing."

"Well, in that case," Hermione started sarcastically, "I suppose I should be glad about that since you're so keen about throwing me to the wolves in order to save Harry."

And, to make a bad evening even worse, Ron didn't even oblige her by rising to her bait and engaging her in an argument. He just lapsed into silence and Hermione, frustrated and upset and furious with him and with Luna and even Ginny who'd done nothing but be glad that Nott hadn't asked for her, and mostly, with Nott, did the same, though her thoughts were anything but quiet.

Why had he asked for her? She was right in that he was a bigot. He thought she was less than he was, just because of her blood and the length of her magical history. _He probably thinks my parents are worth less than nothing,_ she thought viciously as they approached the other Prefects. 

_And what am I going to do if he does? If what he's got in mind can cure Harry..._ She had no answer to that and it left a bitter taste in her mouth to know that whatever answer she came to was going to be a difficult one to reconcile herself with. _If I say yes, I will be stuck in a bond with a man who doesn't see me as his equal and who thinks my parents are worthless. But if I say no and Harry dies, I will_ never _forgive myself._

Prefects milled around the Great Hall in disorganized groups, slowly and roughly separating off into their assigned teams. Hermione slowed, wishing she didn't have to do this now, that she could go off and have a good cry and maybe see if she could think rationally about everything.

But she couldn't and pasted a smile on her face.

"Hi Hermione," Padma said, sweeping her long, dark hair over one shoulder and smiling at her as Ron peeled away to go and slouch over to where Anthony, Parkinson, and Susan were waiting. "Can you believe this?"

"Hi Padma. I'm afraid I can," she admitted. "And I'm glad that precautions are being taken but all that time--gone! It's lucky we're in our sixth year. I wouldn't want to be taking OWLs or NEWTs with this taking up our evenings."

Padma gave a delicate sort of shrug. "I'm sure we'd have managed. You're right that I'm rather guilty of being glad for the same reason you are though. Are you all right? You look pale."

"I'm fine," Hermione said hastily, looking around the room to see if she could spot the other members of their team. _Ernie and Malfoy. What a fun year this is going to be._ "Where's Malfoy?" She'd spotted Ernie, talking to Jessica about something that required him to gesture with his hands.

"Maybe he's ill," Padma murmured quietly. 

Hermione frowned at that, not missing the hopeful note in Padma's voice. "Are we going to be allowed out on patrol if we're missing a member? The rules didn't mention anything about that."

"I doubt they'd cancel it for one person missing. I think we're going to be allowed to go out so long as it's more than two of us show up--and with the fact that we'd lose our badges if we don't have a legit reason to not be here... if Malfoy's not here, he's probably got good reason to be."

"Or he thinks it doesn't matter," Hermione murmured, thinking about Nott's situation. Was Malfoy in a bind like that? Was that even possible? It was easier to imagine it of Nott, who was little more than a quiet presence in the very back of most of the classes she shared with him. It was far harder to believe that of Malfoy who'd spent the past five years making life difficult for Harry, Ron, and herself.

"Oh look," Padma said, gesturing with her head. "He's here. Looks like he was just running late."

Hermione's lips twitched. "He certainly looks like he was running." His usually immaculately groomed hair was windswept and his robes were askew. "Or flying," she added, then paused, hit by a revelation. "Do you think the Slytherin team has already started Quidditch practices? That would explain it. He's not Captain but as Seeker he can't exactly just skive off a practice when he wants."

"Maybe he can." Padma laughed lowly. "He's supposed to be the leader of Slytherin, isn't he?"

Maybe he was, Hermione thought as Ernie joined them and Malfoy came to stand as far enough away from the three of them as he could while still being close enough to be considered part of the group. But this year, everything seemed wrong about them. Maybe he wasn't any longer and that was preying on him. Up close, he looked more sick than hurried and she watched covertly as he muttered under his breath a series of spells that straightened the wrinkles in his robes and smoothed his hair back neatly. One spell even shined his shoes. In moments he looked like he'd just come from posing for a magazine. 

_But that doesn't change the fact that he's lost weight,_ Hermione realized. _And it doesn't change the shadows under his eyes or the way that he's standing like he's wound so tight that he's about to burst._

Maybe it was possible that whatever it was that had sent Nott scrambling for a way out of the war, that had sent him to an unusual book and made him willing to bond with a Muggleborn, had sent Malfoy scrambling for his own way out. 

Hermione looked at Padma and Ernie, troubled, and wondering how their summers had been. 

On reflection, listening to how Ernie was detailing their path despite the fact that they all knew it from the train, and watching Padma's earrings glint in the light of the hall, Hermione decided not to ask. If something had happened, and it was dreadful, she'd just upset all of them.

_I don't want to know that badly,_ she admitted to herself. _I have enough on my plate without trying to figure out the puzzle that is everyone's personal business. I only have to deal with mine._

Which was quite enough for her to do. She tried to tell herself that thinking that was the reasonable thing to do. That she was being smart. It felt like she was running away. Would she ask, if it was another Gryffindor standing by her? Was this one of the reasons they'd been split by House and forced to deal with the others on their own terms?

If so, she commended who ever had come up with the idea. She commended them for their cruel brilliance. _Not one of us is comfortable_ , Hermione thought, _and we're all aware of that._

_We're all on even ground._

She wondered how long that would last. And who would gain the advantage first.

* * *

Patrol was long, frustrating and an exercise in not hauling off and hexing both Malfoy and Padma who, it had turned out, was the most likely to rise to Malfoy's jibes. Whatever had so subdued Malfoy on the train, whatever it was that was still leaving him looking like death warmed over had, clearly, not taken away his ability to be immensely irritating. 

She was honest enough with herself to know that if she hadn't been so preoccupied with her own problems that she would have been just as likely as Padma to rise to the bait whenever Malfoy said something deliberately inflammatory. 

As it was, she spent most of the evening feeling a growing kinship with Ernie who she exchanged so many exasperated glances with that it was quite ridiculous by the time they made it back to the Great Hall.

By the time they reached the Great Hall, Hermione was thoroughly sick of the both Padma and Malfoy and had decided that if she agreed with Ernie Macmillan one more time that evening that she was going to be ill. He was a very nice guy, but he was dreadfully overbearing when he was trying so hard to do his job and nothing else. _And I am drowning in pomposity._

It vindictively cheered her when she saw other teams straggle in, looking as dispirited and rung out as she felt. It was petty of her, perhaps, but it was comforting to know they were all precisely in the same boat and, at that moment in time, seemed to feel about the same over it. 

To her surprise, though, when Ron came in he was not scowling.

He was frowning as he walked beside Parkinson, while she talked, stealing glances up at him, but as they got closer, Hermione realized that he was frowning because he was _listening_ to Parkinson. Anthony and Susan were talking animatedly behind them, both their hands darting about as they gestured. None of them looked anything like frazzled or harassed or horrified at what their evening had turned into.

They looked like… like a team.

"Are you seriously telling me that of all the teams, it was _that one_ that managed to get along?" Padma murmured in her ear and Hermione jumped guiltily. Padma stared beadily at the team. "Do you think they're under some sort of hex? I bet Anthony could pull that off and if it promoted harmony I don't know that Susan would go against it... you know how most Hufflepuffs are."

Hermione laughed despite herself. "We'll have to ask," she said, "but it almost makes me feel a little better to know that this wasn't _entirely_ a fiasco. Though, naturally, I'm gnawing on my liver with envy that it wasn't our team that managed it." 

"Please, we've got Malfoy. Do you think we'll ever manage it?"

Watching Ernie and Malfoy argue while both glanced furtively around for the Head Boy or Girl to dismiss them, Hermione really rather doubted it. "It could happen," she said staunchly. "And it most definitely won't happen if we never have a little bit of faith that it can."

Padma shrugged her elegant shoulders, a match for her twin's, and shook her head. "Fair enough."

Once Jeremy dismissed them, Hermione fell into step beside Ron as they headed back up to the tower, both of them stifling yawns. "You were getting along with your team," she said, and flushed when it came out accusatory.

Ron's lop-sided half-smile made her insides do a flip. "It wasn't so bad," he admitted, shoving his hands into his pockets. "We had a few spats but nothing that left us looking like the rest of you. Malfoy get on your nerves?"

" _And_ Padma," Hermione confessed. "It was like standing between Malfoy and... and _Ginny_ for hours on end. I wouldn't have guessed it of Padma, but she's got quite a temper when provoked. Ernie and I played peacekeeper."

"Poor thing," Ron teased. "Should we get you some hot chocolate and a scone to celebrate your freedom from them for the night?"

"You're just hungry," she accused, lips twitching as she struggled to repress a smile. He never changed. 

"Always. Did you want to go and eat?" 

She hesitated, just to give a token amount of resistance to the idea, and then gave in. "Oh, why not?" Hermione said. "It's been a long time since dinner and a hot drink _would_ be nice."

It was only much later, once she'd showered and crawled into bed, that Hermione realized that Ron hadn't explained at all how he'd managed to get along with his team. _And I forgot to ask him what he and Parkinson were talking about,_ she thought sleepily, rolling over and forgetting about it.

* * *

The next morning came too early for her liking. Hermione, while by nature was a morning person, felt that any morning that started before seven was far too early. So when she found herself wide-awake and staring at her canopy while her clock read just after six, she felt that the world was being profoundly unfair. 

With a sigh she heaved herself out of bed and reached for her hairbrush. It was a good thing, she tried to convince herself. This way, she'd be able to think about her options and make notes before everyone else was awake. Hermione paused. She'd be the only one awake… unless the Gryffindor Quidditch team had started their practices already. She tried to remember if Katie was a morning person.

_Katie was so surprised when she got made Captain but I think she'll be a good one. She's fair and nice without being a pushover._

Once her hair was brushed, Hermione put herself together before grabbing her things and heading downstairs to the common room with them. Secluding herself in one of the bigger chairs right by the fireplace, which still burnt merrily (or, she thought, had been re-lit by the House elves when they'd sensed someone was awake, which made her feel a pang of guilt for adding more work to their lives), she pulled out a scrap of parchment and a self-inking quill and began noting down her options and her thoughts. 

It was times like this that she wished she had a diary. She'd never been the sort of girl to keep one though and so she made due with spare parchment and her own spells to keep what she wrote from being read if anyone looked over her shoulder to see what she was doing so early in the morning.

_Not_ , she thought wryly, _that anyone would be surprised to see me working_.

The options, looked over in the early light of day, didn't look a whole lot better than they had the night before. _I wish I could talk to someone about this,_ she thought pensively. _Someone unbiased, who could give me advice without shoving me towards saving Harry. I want to save him, I do, but..._

Could she give up that much of herself to do so? That she wasn't sure was upsetting in and of itself.

For a moment, she thought longingly of telling Professor McGonagall what had happened and the potential solution that they'd been given. Two things stopped her more than anything else. One, what Ron and Ginny had both agreed with Luna: this could not happen without her free will. And two, she was unsure, after a summer of feeling increasingly ill-used by the Professors as they were time after time denied access to the more useful books, if telling them was the wisest thing to do.

It felt almost like a blasphemous thought, to mistrust the teachers. She bit her lip hard and continued thinking it. If she told them what she might have to do in order to cure Harry, if they really had found no other cure, then what would happen?

Would they try to talk her into it?

Or would they try and talk her out of it while saying it was not a sacrifice that she was expected to make. She was young, she had time to properly fall in love, Harry wouldn't want her to do that for him.

She didn't know the answer to that either. Professor Snape, Hermione believed, would want her to do it. Of all the Professors, he had consistently seemed the most proactive about trying new treatments and spells to see what would happen. Of him, she was sure that he wanted Harry awake the sooner the better. He seemed to judge Harry's continued sleep as a grave personal insult and react accordingly. 

But the rest of them... Hermione tilted her head back, recalling the events of the summer, and lost herself in memories. No, the rest of them, she reluctantly decided, couldn't be trusted with this.

_Ginny would say I'm being hypocritical,_ she thought ruefully. _Just after I was so insistent on trusting them to keep us safe I turn around and decide to keep something like this, something really dangerous, from them._

But it wasn't really just her secret to tell, now was it? Hermione pressed her quill to parchment so hard that the parchment tore at the realization. She'd been missing an entire half of the equation.

What would it do to Nott if she told the professors? The book he had--it was almost certainly very Dark magic. Further, they might even see it as him forcing her into a bond with the promise of curing Harry. How did the book work? Why was there a bond involved with it?

_I don't know enough,_ she thought, suddenly energized. _But I know what to do to get the answers I need._ Hurriedly stuffing her parchment and quill away, Hermione flung her bag over her shoulder and raced up the stairs of the boys' dorm. They were still sleeping, every last one of them, when she slipped into the Sixth year boys dorm--her guess that they might be out practicing proven wrong since Ron would rather die than miss Quidditch, even if it was just to watch, since tryouts weren't due to be held until next week.

On tiptoe, acutely aware of how this would look if anyone woke up and caught her, Hermione stepped over to Ron's trunk and knelt down beside it. There were so many things wrong with going through one of her best friend's trunks that she wasn't even sure where to start. She could only imagine what his reaction would be when she told him later.

But she needed Harry's map and Ron had taken possession of it and Harry's other important possessions. "Sorry Ron," she murmured to him. "I'd wake you, but I need to do this on my own." The map was precisely where he'd told her he'd put it, for once, and she stuffed it in her sleeve and hurried from the room as Neville made a noise like he was slowly waking up.

She rushed down the stairs so fast that had anyone else been on them, she would have definitely been unable to stop in time to keep from crashing into them. Once ensconced back in her chair, she pulled her legs up under her and tapped the map with her wand. "I solemnly swear that I am up to no good."

Quickly she scanned it eagerly, wishing the map had a find-person function (and why hadn't Sirius and Harry's father and Professor Lupin thought of that back then?), and felt a thrill of electricity through her when she found the dot neatly labelled 'Theodore Nott' in the library. _Not even I'm there at this hour!_ she thought, but it made her life a great deal easier that he was.

She needed answers. This saved her from having to break into the Slytherin common room.

If she wanted to ask her questions, who better was there to ask than the one who'd come up with the proposal?

Hermione left the common room with a spring to her step and a determined fire in her eyes.

* * *


End file.
